RIVES 


■^c^Jl 


/ 


OVER-THE-MOON    SEEMED    ABOUT    TO    CLIMB    THE    BIG    CATALPA-TREE 


TRIX 

AND 

OVER-THE-MOON 


BY 


AM  EL  I  E     R  IVE  S 

(PRINCESS    TKOUBETZKOV) 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

F.    WALTER    TAYLOR 


HARPER  &0  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

M  C  M  I  X 


Copyright,  1909,  by  Hakpkr  &  Bkotmrrs. 

j4il  rights  restrvcti, 
Piihlislied  October,  1909. 


WITH    LOVE 

TO 

MY   SISTER    GERTRUDE 


ivi272105 


V 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

OVER-THE-MOON       SEEMED      ABOUT      TO 

CLIMB  THE  BIG  CATALPA-TREE  .  Frontispiece 
"there,    TIM,    RUN    ALONG    AND    TELL 

JOE  TO  SADDLE  THE  '  'rION  COLT"  '  Facing  p  42 
WALKING  SEDATELY  ALONG  WHERE  THE 

GRASS    GREW   THICKEST      ....         "  I26 

TRIX    SHED    THE    BITTEREST    TEARS    OF 

HER   LIFE "         158 


TRIX 

AND 
OVER-THE-MOON 


TRIX 

AND 

OVER-THE-MOON 


I 


TRIX  was  transplanting  a  mock-orange 
shrub;  the  network  of  fibres  was  all  loose 
and  ready  to  come  away;  only  the  big  tap- 
root at  which  she  chopped  and  chopped, 
with  her  strong  young  arms  bared  above  the 
elbow,  held  grimly  to  its  native  soil  and  re- 
fused to  loosen  or  be  severed.  She  took  up 
her  discarded  hoe  again,  and,  leaning  on  it, 
pushed  back  with  her  forearm  the  damp 
locks,  so  exactly  the  color  of  the  dark-red 
earth  in  which  she  had  been  digging. 

"Ugh!"    she    said,    addressing    Nibs,    her 
Irish  terrier,  who  sat  watching  her  with  an 
I 


TRIX     AND    QVER-THE-MOQN 

air  of  morne  resignation.  "  It's  enough  to 
make  Moses  cuss — though,  after  all,  why 
Moses  should  have  been  called  meek,  I  can't 
imagine,  Nibs,  my  child.  He  murdered  a 
man  and  broke  the  stone  tablets,  and  beat  a 
poor  rock  instead  of  talking  nicely  to  it,  and  all 
because  of  temper — yet  they  call  him  meek. 
That's  the  way  history's  written.  I'm  glad 
nobody's  going  to  write  ours — ain't  you, 
Nibsey  ?  Well,  let's  have  another  go  at  this 
wretched  thing!"  And,  setting  her  small 
mouth  in  a  firm,  red  circle,  she  again  attacked 
the  tap-root. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning,  and  yet  Trix 
had  set  out  three  other  shrubs,  superintended 
the  planting  of  half  a  dozen  trees,  seen  to  the 
strawberry  bed,  overhauled  the  stables  and 
dairy,  and  written  about  fifty  checks.  The 
day  was  yet  before  her,  she  felt,  and  the  day 
would  be  full.  What  she  had  done  already 
was  a  mere  five-finger  exercise,  as  it  were, 
to  get  her  singularly  varied  powers  into  good 
running  order.  Later  there  would  be  Tim 
and  his  spelling-lesson,  her  new  habit-skirt, 
the  colts,  the  farm,  that  man  from  Barbours- 
ville  to  see  about  the  contract  for  timber  in 

2 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

Hickory  Mountain,  her  runabout  to  varnish 
— above  all,  the  sick  mare  to  see  after.  She 
had  been  down  to  the  mill  once  that  morning 
already,  but  she  must  go  again,  "as  soon  as 
this  darned  bush  is  settled,"  she  ended,  in  her 
thought,  pausing  again  and  regarding  it  with 
warm  and  helpless  vindictiveness.  Trix  was 
small  and  the  shrub  was  small,  and  so  far 
they  seemed  a  good  match  for  each  other,  but 
she  conquered  finally,  and  set  off  at  a  con- 
tented little  trot,  dragging  it  after  her.  She 
rarely  walked;  or  if  she  did,  it  was  like  an 
alert  soldier  to  the  rhythm  of  an  invisible 
drum.  As  she  reached  the  spot  that  she  had 
selected  as  the  future  home  of  the  obstinate 
plant,  and  dashed  her  hoe  deep  into  the 
sodden  turf,  she  paused  for  a  moment  and 
looked  about  her,  drawing  deep  into  her 
lungs  the  dank,  bitter-sweet  air  of  the  March 
morning. 

From  where  she  stood  the  ground  fell  away 
on  all  sides,  leaving  high  in  air  the  big  grassy 
square,  with  its  hedges  of  mock-orange  and 
thorn  and  great  acacia-trees  planted  in  circles 
to  right  and  left.  Beyond  lay  fold  on  fold  of 
dark-red  meadow-land,  divided  into  fields  by 
3 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

the  zigzag  of  snake  fences,  each  watered  by 
its  own  brook,  and  each  known  to  Trix  as 
most  women  know  the  rooms  in  a  famiHar 
house.  DeHcate  and  faintly  blue,  as  in  an 
old-fashioned  water-color  drawing,  stretched 
on  either  side  the  horns  of  the  crescent  of 
mountains  in  which  her  home  was  set.  Far 
away  to  the  southward  spread  league  on 
league  of  forest,  in  a  blackish-violet  haze  of 
winter  twigs  that  grew  dimmer  and  more  pale 
with  distance  until  they  seemed  to  merge  into 
the  sea  that  lay  beyond  them,  partaking  of  its 
faded  sadness  and  mystery,  under  the  resigned 
pallor  of  the  March  sky.  It  was  very  still. 
The  earth  seemed  dozing  under  its  curtain  of 
soft  air.  Only  now  and  then  came  the  thud 
of  an  impatient  hoof  from  the  stables,  the 
squeal  of  romping  colts  in  a  near  paddock, 
the  shrilling  ripple  of  sheep-bells,  the  long- 
drawn  note  of  a  locomotive,  far  away,  yet 
seeming  near  at  hand,  because  of  the  damp 
atmosphere.  And  as  she  stood  and  gazed 
upon  it,  a  big  welling  tenderness,  for  which 
she  could  not  have  found  a  name,  tightened 
the  girl's  breast  and  set  a  sudden  ache  in  her 
throat. 

4 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"Why  does  it  make  me  feel  sad?"  she 
asked  herself,  surprised.  "I  love  it  and  it  is 
mine.  What  queer  things  people  are,  any- 
way! 

Then,  as  she  fell  to  work  again,  she  began 
repeating  to  herself  some  Hnes  of  Horace;  for 
this  was  another  of  the  strange  anomalies 
which  went  to  make  up  the  being  called  Trix 
— that  she  was  wholly  unliterary  in  her  tastes 
and  yet  that  she  loved  Horace  and  read  him 
in  the  original.  Her  father  had  been  one  of 
those  old-fashioned  Virginia  University  men, 
who  taught  their  boys  and  girls  Latin  and 
Greek  along  with  their  a-b-c's.  Now  she  mur- 
mured, as  her  hoe  flashed  vigorously  up  and 
down  in  the  gray  light  that  she  loved: 

"'Often  did  I  pray  that  I  had  a  piece  of 
land,  not  so  very  large,  with  a  garden,  and 
near  the  house  a  perennial  spring  of  water, 
and  a  little  wood  besides.  Heaven  has  done 
more  and  better  for  me  than  my  wishes.  It 
is  well,  Son  of  Maia.  I  ask  nothing  further, 
save  that  thou  wilt  continue  to  me  these 
blessings.  ...  I  trust  that  what  I  have  makes 
me  thankful  and  content;  if  this  be  so,  then 
thus  I  pray,  "  O  make  for  me.  Heaven,  my 
5 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

cattle  fat,  and  all  I  have  heavy  except  my 
wit,  and,  as  Thou  usest  to  be,  still  be  my  best 
guardian. 

For  Trix  was  deeply  religious  in  her  own 
odd,  curt  little  way.  She  did  not  care  for 
church-going  and  did  not  pretend  to,  but  she 
always  knelt  down  last  thing,  in  her  riding- 
habit,  before  she  went  hunting,  and  prayed 
to  be  taken  care  of,  and  she  never  rode  a 
green  hunter  at  a  big  fence  without  the  same 
formula. 

As  she  was  pressing  down  the  last  spade- 
ful of  earth,  with  her  stout  little  boot,  now 
crimson  with  the  soft  clay,  there  came  tow- 
ard her,  out  of  one  of  the  many  doorways 
of  the  long,  rambling  white  house  with  its 
old  shingle  roof  cushioned  with  moss,  one 
of  the  most  endearing  little  figures  possible 
to  imagine. 

This  was  Tim,  her  seven-year-old  son.  He 
advanced  alertly,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
a  damaged  spelling-book  under  one  arm. 
Trix  cast  upon  him  a  grave  and  knowing  look, 
which  he  returned  with  a  smile  of  milk-and- 
honey,  and  a  radiant  beam  from  limpid,  peri- 
winkle eyes. 

6 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOQN 

"Muvver,"  said  he,  forestalling  probable 
admonition,  "I've  learned  my  spellin'.  Can 
I  go  wiv  you  where  you're  goin'  ? " 

"Muvver"  and  "wiv"  were  the  two  relics 
of  babyhood  that  still  clung  to  the  very  adult 
language  of  Tim. 

"How  can  I  take  you,  Tim?  I'm  going 
over  the  farm.  You  couldn't  walk  and  you 
certainly  couldn't  ride." 

There  was  some  bitterness  in  Trix's  voice 
as  she  made  this  last  remark,  for  this  only 
son  had  not  inherited  his  mother's  gift  for 
horses.  He  did  not  care  for  them  and  they 
did  not  care  for  him,  and  he  rode  exactly  like 
the  White  Knight  in  Alice  Through  the  Look- 
ing-Glass.  There  was  no  rare  and  devious 
manner  in  which  a  person  could  come  off  a 
horse  that  Tim  had  not  accomplished.  He 
confessed  frankly  his  preference  for  machinery, 
which  made  Trix  reproach  herself  for  having 
used  the  lawn-mower  so  often  before  his  birth. 

"For  of  course  it's  that,"  she  reflected, 
bitterly.  "Why  didn't  somebody  tell  me.? 
It  isn't  natural  ...  to  come  of  generations  of 
sportsmen  as  he  has  done  and  then  put 
machinery   before   horses." 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MOON 

"I  can  get  on  again  .  .  .  easy,"  urged  he; 
"I  don't  mind  fallin'  off.  Nosey  waits  for 
me  now.     Please,  Muvver.*' 

"I'll  think  about  it,"  said  Trix.  "We'll 
see  how  the  spelling-lesson  goes  first.  .  .  ." 

"I've  did  a  renormous  sum,"  Tim  flung 
out,  carelessly. 

"Spelling,  not  sums,  is  what  I  told  you  to 
do,"  observed  his  mother,  unmoved.  She 
had  decided  to  guide  Tim's  career  in  spell- 
ing, ever  since  one  day  when  his  grand- 
mother had  sought  to  show  him  off  to  some 
visitors,  and  Tim,  following  the  pencil  along 
the  pictured  page,  where  each  object  was 
faced  by  it's  portrait,  had  spelled  trium- 
phantly,  "P-a-i-1,   bucket!" 

**Miss  Be'trix,"  here  broke  in  the  voice  of 
Tim's  Mammy  from  a  low  portico,  "Mr.  Par- 
ley, he  hyuh  in  de  pantry.  .  .  an'  say  kin  you 
pleas'm  step  dyar  a  minute,  right  quick.  .  .  . 
Seem  like  he  moughty  troublesome  in  he  min'." 

'*Oh,  it's  that  mare!  ...  I  know  it's  that 
mare!"  cried  Trix,  casting  down  her  spade, 
and  she  rushed  into  the  house,  calling  over  her 
shoulder,  "You  stay  with  Mammy,  Tim,  and 
say  your  spelling  to  her." 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

In  the  pantry  the  overseer  greeted  her  with 
a  very  lugubrious  countenance. 

"Mis'  Bruce,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "I  thought 
I'd  jes  get  you  to  come  yo'self.  All  three  of 
them  mars  is  mighty  sick,  but  that  flea-bit 
gray  looks  like  she's  goin'  to  die  right  prompt." 

"Wait  till  I  get  the  strychnine  and  the 
hypodermic  syringe,"  called  Trix,  running 
again,  and  she  fled  into  he  '"oom  and  out  at 
a  side  door,  and  met  him  with  the  required 
articles  at  the  old  stile  leading  to  the  mill. 

They  went  in  procession  by  a  short  cut 
through  the  apple  orchard,  Trix  and  Parley 
ahead,  and  Joe,  the  head  groom,  a  tall 
mulatto,  with  a  figure  like  the  "Man  with  the 
strigil,"  following  at  a  sort  of  lope,  an  India- 
rubber  drenching-bottle  in  his  hand.  The 
slick,  red  clay  of  the  path,  ribboning  between 
winter  weeds,  took  on  a  mauve  glisten  from  the 
purpHsh  sky.  The  wet  rails  of  the  fences 
shone  with  the  same  tint.  Below  them,  the 
hoof-marked  road  and  the  knotted  branches 
of  old  catalpa-trees  reproduced  again  the  tones 
of  dull  red  and  violet.  All  the  landscape 
seemed  washed  in  with  these  two  colors, 
varied  only  by  the  sweeps  of  broom-straw, 
9 


TRIX    AND    OVKR-THE-MOON 

warm  saffron,  and  bleached  yellow,  and  silvery 
gray,  that  clothed  the  stony  fields  at  the  foot 
of  Hickory  Mountain.  At  the  turnstile  that 
led  out  of  the  orchard,  they  passed  the  lot 
where  the  hogs  lived  happily  in  unrooting 
luxury,  so  lavish  was  their  feed  of  maize,  and 
a  huge  Berkshire  boar  stood  up  with  an  in- 
quiring grunt  and  ears  set  forward  as  they 
went  by,  regardin,,,  them  out  of  fixed,  human- 
looking  eyes,  half  hidden  under  inch-long 
lashes. 

"That  cert'n'y  is  a  prime  boar.  Mis'  Bruce, 
ma'am,"  observed  Parley,  as  they  passed, 
and  half  bent  a  leg  to  pause,  but  Trix  hurried 
him  on. 

"Yes  .  .  .  yes  ...  I  know.  .  I'll  come  back 
and  look  at  him  later.     The  mare  now." 

"That  mar',"  said  Parley,  with  a  lingering 
backward  glance  at  the  prize  boar,  "you 
mustn't  be  too  set  back  when  you  see  her. 
Mis'  Bruce,  ma'am.     She  shore  is  a  sight." 

And  she  was  indeed  "a  sight,"  poor  brute. 
In  her  big  loose-box,  up  to  her  belly  in  clean 
straw,  she  stood  with  legs  spread,  and  looked 
past  them  out  at  an  unkind  world,  from  great, 
bleared,  resigned  eyes  that  said,  "I  haven't 
10 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

deserved  this  of  you."  Her  breath  came  in 
sharp,  hot  blasts  from  her  convulsed  nostrils, 
and  she  trembled  from  time  to  time,  despite 
the  mammoth  poultice  which  was  applied  to 
her  chest  and  held  in  place  by  means  of 
coarse  sacking  pinned  and  girthed  over  her 
back. 

"Poor  thing  .  .  .  poor  thing  .  .  .  poor  old 
lady,"  said  Trix,  mothering  her.  "Here — let 
me  get  this  over."  She  nipped  up  a  deft  fold 
of  muscle,  and  inserted  the  hypodermic. 
The  mare  winced  and  backed  sharply  against 
the  wall. 

"Where's  that  whiskey,  Joe  .^  .  .  .  Here 
.  .  .  give  it  to  me  .  .  .  You  get  up  on  that 
beam  now  and  rope  up  her  head.  .  .  .  There, 
that's  it.  .  .  .  Now,  old  lady.  ...  So  ...  so. 
.  .  .  Nobody's  going  to  hurt  you." 

She  had  scrambled  up  on  the  manger,  and 
stood  balancing  her  lithe  muscular  body,  the 
drenching-bottle  in  one  hand,  the  other  ready 
to  catch  hold  of  the  mare's  tongue  when  Joe 
should  have  hauled  her  head  into  position. 

"I  'clar'  that  cert'n'y  is  a  pretty  sight," 
said  Parley,  watching  "the  Squire,"  as  every- 
body called  her  to  themselves,  while  she  took 
II 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 


the  writhing,  white-pink  tongue  of  the  sick 
mare  in  one  strong,  brown  Httle  hand,  and 
with  the  other  inserted  the  bottle  between  her 
jaws.  The  mare  gulped  and  gulped,  and 
rolled  helpless  eyes  backward,  as  though  ask- 
ing if  there  were  no  pity  coming  from  the  rear 
of  this  strange  world  that  used  her  so  ungently. 
Then  it  was  over,  and  she  stood  resigned  and 
shivering  again,  chewing  and  tasting  her  own 
tongue,  so  strangely  coated  with  that  odd, 
new,  burning  taste.  And  presently,  as  Trix 
stood  and  talked  to  her,  and  combed  out  the 
thick  coarse  mane  with  sympathetic  fingers, 
the  blast  of  breath  from  her  nostrils  began  to 
give  forth  the  acrid  odor  of  alcohol. 

"There — that's  helping  her,"  said  Trix, 
with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "Look  at  her 
eye — it's  quieter  already." 

"Ef  you  do  bring  that  mar'  through,  Mis' 
Bruce,  ma'am,"  said  Parley,  soberly,  "I'll 
just  give  out  as  you're  a  bawn  wonder." 

"Now  let's  have  a  look  at  the  others,"  said 
she,  rinsing  off  her  arms  and  hands  in  a 
bucket  of  water  that  Joe  brought  from 
the   millstream. 

The   two   other   mares   were   weeping   co- 

12 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MQQN 

piously  from  eye  and  nostril,  and  coughing 
with  loud,  dusty-sounding  coughs,  but  their 
temperatures  were  normal,  and  Trix  found 
nothing  to  worry  her  in  their  condition. 

She  had  bought  the  three  in  a  bunch  a  few 
days  ago  from  a  dealer  in  Richmond,  one  of 
them  being  a  big  upstanding  Percheron,  very 
valuable  for  a  brood-mare,  while  the  lower- 
class  sisters  were  only  rough  but  sound  creat- 
ures fit  for  farm  work.  It  had  been  one  of 
Trix's  "bargains":  one  of  the  seemingly 
mad  purchases  which  she  continued  to  make, 
and  which  turned  out  well,  to  the  endless 
amazement  of  her  husband  and  the  Over- 
seer. On  this  occasion  she  had  really  only 
meant  to  try  the  Percheron,  but  casting  her 
eye — that  extraordinary  organ  called  "an 
eye  for  a  horse" — over  the  other  two,  stand- 
ing forlorn  and  very  ill  with  influenza  in  a 
corner  of  the  yard,  a  luminous  idea  had 
come  to  her. 

"I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Latch,"  she  had  said, 
"I'll  take  the  Percheron  at  your  price  if  you'll 
throw  in  those  two  other  mares  at  mine." 

And  Mr.  Latch,  thinking  her  a  lady-idiot, 
had  consented,  Trix  had  the  three  promptly 
13 


TRIX    AND    OVi:  R-THK-MOON 

put  Into  a  box-car,  and  she  and  Joe  brought 
them  up  to  Oldwood,  where  they  were  des- 
tined finally  to  fill  valuable  places  in  the  stock, 
and,  incidentally,  the  heart  of  Mr.  Latch  with 
the  gloom  of  the  outwitted. 

"That  little  Mrs.  Bruce  from  up  the  val- 
ley ..  .  she  certainly  is  the  devil  an'  all  'bout 
hawses,"  he  confided  to  his  head  man. 
"Now  she  done  me  thorough  over  them 
three  mares  .  .  .  done  me  quite  honorable, 
you  onderstan'  .  .  .  but  done  me  .  .  .  done  me 
clear  as  a  whistle." 


II 


BEFORE  she  went  up  to  the  house  to 
have  a  tub,  Trix  visited  the  stables  and 
cast  an  eye  on  the  yearHngs  in  the  stable 
paddock.  She  whistled,  and  two  or  three 
strolled  toward  her,  reaching  out  with  their 
long,  well-set  necks,  and  w^orking  square, 
plushy,  gray  lips  in  anticipation  of  probable 
sugar.  One,  however,  her  favorite,  a  pow- 
erful bay  with  black  points,  named  Bright 
Boy,  lagged  in  the  rear,  near  a  tool-house, 
and  fascinated  her  by  his  singular  behavior. 
Flattening  his  ears,  he  stretched  his  head  as 
far  toward  a  corner  of  the  tool-house  as  he 
could  stretch  it,  without  going  farther  him- 
self, then  lifting  high  his  upper  lip,  shot  it 
forward  in  a  series  of  frightful  grimaces. 

"Why,  he  looks  exactly  as  if  he  were  making 
faces  at  somebody,"  she  thought.     "I've  seen 
colts  do  that  to  horses  until  they  kicked  them, 
15 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

but  what  is  this  silly  doing  it  for  ? "  Then  an- 
other thought  occurred  to  her,  and  she  called, 
sternly,  "Tim!" 

Tim's  little  silver-gold  head  promptly 
crowned  the  top  of  the  garden  paling  beside 
the  tool-house,  and  with  a  last  hideous  con- 
tortion of  his  pretty  nose.  Bright  Boy  squeak- 
ed, kicked  sideways,  and  trotted  toward  her. 

"I  didn't  do  a  thing  to  him,  muvver," 
called  Tim  from  the  paling.  "I  jes  whistled 
and  called  him  like  you  do,  and  he  began 
makin'  faces  an'  nippin'  at  me." 

"It's  because  they  all  know  you  don't  like 
them  that  they  hate  you  so,"  said  his  mother, 
sadly.  "Can't  you  try  to  like  them,  Tim- 
my : 

"I  don't  know  how  to  begin,"  he  said,  cast 
down  a  little.  "I  don't,  dont—Wke  'em, 
muvver — I  jes  like  muchines  better — but  I 
would  like  'em  not  to  make  faces  at  me. 
Can't  you  show  me  how  } " 

Trix  took  him  along  with  her  for  an  in- 
spection of  the  stables,  and  tried  literally  to 
instil  some  "horse  sense"  into  his  charmino- 
noddle.  Some  of  her  darlings  she  merely 
visited  in  their  boxes,  some  she  had  stripped 
j6 


TRIX    AND    QVER-THE-MOON 

and  led  out  into  the  stable-yard.     It  was  al- 
together a  satisfactory  experience. 

"We'll  have  a  pretty  nice  string,  Joe,"  she 
said,  happily.  "I'm  not  very  keen  about  the 
summer  horse-shows — only  one  or  two  of 
them.  But  Glory  and  Never-say-die  will  be 
in  tiptop  shape  by  autumn,  and  those  three 
green  hunters  we've  been  handling  this  winter. 
And  oh !  ...  by  the  way  .  .  .  I've  heard  of  a 
three-year-old — a  wonder  they  say — one  of 
Orion's  colts  .  .  .  over  in  the  valley.  I'm  go- 
ing over  to  see  him  in  a  day  or  two.  ..." 

"'Rion's  colts  apt  tub  be  moughty  mean. 
Miss  Trix,  ..."  said  Joe,  reflectively. 
''Moughty  mean,"  he  added.  '"Member  dat 
colt  a  his'n  nigh  stomped  de  life  outer  Aun' 
Sukey's  Jim  ?" 

"They  were  all  handled  wrong  from  the 
beginning,  Joe.  .  .  .  This  one's  never  been 
regularly  'broke' — horrid  word!  .  .  .  We'll 
get  him  in  shape  in  no  time.  .  .  ." 

But  Joe  tilted  his  cap  with  one  finger  and 
stood  scratching  his  head  with  the  others. 

"I  don'  like  dem  'Rion  colts  fuh  nuthin\ 
Miss  Trix,"  he  murmured.  "Dey  all  jes  ez 
mean  ez  gar-broth." 

17 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THt:-MOON 


"Oh,  you're  such  a  wet  blanket,  Joe!" 
laughed  his  mistress.  "If  you  were  a  horse, 
you'd  have  to  have  electric  lights  in  your 
box  or  get  melancholia.  Wait  until  I  show 
you.  If  that  three-year-old  is  what  I  think 
he  is,  we'll  cut  out  all  the  Northern  swells. 
Cheer  up,  Joe.  By  the  way,  how  are  Gleam's 
feet  getting  on .?  I'll  never  have  another 
horse  bled  that  way.  I  don't  believe  in  it 
at  all  .  .  .  Remember,  we're  going  to  win 
with  that  Orion  colt.  He's  a  blue-roan,  I 
hear.  I'd  rather  have  had  him  bay  or 
brown— any  other  color  in  fact.  But  if  he's 
a  good  dark  roan  like  a  black  Hamburg 
grape  with  the  bloom  on  it,  why  then.  .  .  . 
Cheer  up,  Joe!"  And,  with  another  laugh 
at  his  dubious  face,  she  ran  off  toward  the 
house,  with  Tim  making  a  good  second. 

Refreshed  and  trimly  smooth  as  a  white 
pigeon  after  a  dip,  in  her  coat  and  skirt  of 
white  Bedford  cord,  and  brown  buckled 
shoes  that  made  her  pretty  feet  look  like  toys, 
with  her  wine-colored  locks  brushed  into  a 
lustrous  plait,  and  the  stable  smell  changed 
into  clouds  of  iris-root,  Trix,  renewed  and  re- 
i8 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

spectable  as  lady  of  the  house,  went  in  search 
of  its  master.  "  Where's  Marse  Sidney,  Mam- 
my Henny?"  she  asked,  meeting  that  per- 
sonage in  the  hall. 

"He  done  shet  up  in  he  steddy  [study] 
all  day  long,  honey.  I  hyar  him  a-groanin' 
some  .  .  .  but  I  ain'  dyar  go  in,  sence  dat  day 
he  fling  de  ink-pot  at  my  hade  an'  den  gimme 
a  silk  dress  tuh  'scuse  him  furrit.  You  reckon 
he  tuck  sick .?  .  .  .  Dat  book-writin'  business 
sut'n'y  do  seem  tuh  twis'  de  intrils." 

"No,  I  don't  reckon  he's  sick.  Mammy. 
...  I  reckon  his  book  just  won't  go  the  way 
he  wants  it  to." 

"'N'  you  goin'  tuh  comfut  him  .f'  Dat^s 
right,  honey!  Be  a  real  helpmeet  furim,  like 
you'  ma  befo'  you." 


Ill 


SIDNEY  BRUCE  and  Beatrix  Marshall 
had  married  when  they  were,  respec- 
tively, twenty-three  and  eighteen.  They  had 
played  together  as  children,  been  separated 
for  some  years  by  his  education  and  the 
foreiiin  travels  on  which  a  rich  uncle  had 
taken  him,  and  met  again,  to  fall  promptly 
in  love  with  each  other,  during  a  spring  week 
at  the  University  of  Virginia.  He  had  fallen 
in  love  with  her,  for  one  thing,  because  she 
reminded  him  so  vividly  of  the  equestrian 
statue  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  near  the  Louvre  in 
Paris,  and  of  this  statue  he  had  always  been 
enamoured.  She  had  fallen  in  love  with 
his  love  of  her,  his  splendid  figure  (for  wom- 
en care  about  men's  looks,  though  tradition 
says  the  contrary),  and  his  growing  reputa- 
tion as  a  young  writer  of  promise.  It  was 
the  appearance  of  several  widely  noticed 
20 


TRIX    AND    QVER-THE-MOON 

stories  in  Harper  s  and  other  well-known 
magazines  that  had  decided  Sidney  on  the 
career  of  what  he  always  called  "a  man  of 
letters."  He  cared  not  a  rap  for  horses,  and 
they  were  then,  as  they  had  always  been, 
since  she  could  ride  on  a  little  pillow  before 
the  old  coachman,  Trix's  chief  object  in  life. 
There  is  a  genius  for  horses,  just  as  there  is 
for  music,  or  poetry,  or  painting,  and  Trix 
was  born  with  it.  Sidney  could  sit  a  horse 
well  and  stick  on,  like  any  other  Virginian, 
but  of  riding  as  a  fine  art  he  knew  nothing  and 
cared  less.  He  liked  the  country  because  it 
was  quiet,  and  he  had  long,  uninterrupted 
hours  to  devote  to  his  writing,  in  which  he 
was  really  absorbed,  but  he  knew  still  less  of 
farming  than  of  horses,  and  so  the  manage- 
ment of  Oldwood  had  fallen  entirely  into  the 
capable  and  willing  hands  of  Trix,  who  was 
also  that  very  rare  thing,  a  born  farmer,  and 
knew  at  a  glance  when  a  furrow  was  being 
turned  too  wide  or  too  narrow,  and  when 
the  skin  of  apple-trees  was  too  tight  for  them, 
and  needed  slitting. 

There  was  very  little  money  in  the  Bruce- 
Marshall  combination,  so  Trix  worked  like 

21 


TRIX    AND    0VKR-THP:-MQ0N 

a  little  beaver  for  the  first  four  years,  merely 
to  knit  tag-ends  together,  and  then,  to  her 
extreme  delight,  found  that  the  last  three 
years  were  bringing  her  in  a  handsome  surplus 
from  the  successful  breeding  of  mules  and  the 
sale  and  showing  of  her  horses. 

The  place  she  had  always  adored,  ever 
since  she  had  spent  wild  and  glorious  summers 
of  tomboyhood  there,  when  her  mother  used 
to  visit  old  Mrs.  Bruce.  She  could  recall  with 
a  thrill,  as  keen  now  as  it  had  been  then,  the 
glee  with  which  she  used  to  catch  her  first 
glimpse  of  the  mountains  at  Gordonsville, 
after  the  long,  dreary  run  from  Richmond, 
and  the  fresh  whiffs  of  clay  and  grass-land, 
so  heady  with  their  bouquet,  as  of  some 
Pan-trodden  vintage,  to  the  small  nostrils  still 
dry  with  the  stale  odor  of  hot  bricks. 

The  house  of  Oldwood  was,  as  has  been 
said,  a  long,  low,  rambling  structure,  built 
of  wood  and  painted  white.  The  paint, 
however,  had  been  worn  by  time  and  weather 
to  a  silvery  gray,  that  caused  Trix  to  knit 
her  brows,  straight  and  black  as  the  marks 
on  a  tiger-butterfly's  wings,  and  cogitate  on 
plans   for   having  it  repainted.     But  it  was 

22 


TRIX    AND    QVER-THE-MOON 

charming  as  it  was,  set  deep  among  the 
foHage  of  silver  poplars  and  old  locust-trees, 
blending  with  the  soft,  homely  landscape^  as 
the  gray  mass  of  a  hornet's  nest  blends  with 
the  boughs  and  leaves  of  the  tree  on  which 
it  has  been  fastened. 

They  lived  quite  alone  there,  with  Tim  and 
the  old  servants  who  had  been  inherited  with 
the  place.  Two  of  these  latter  were  remark- 
able even  among  that  remarkable  species,  the 
old  family  servant,  and  caused  the  only  up- 
heavals that  ever  stirred  the  waters  of  that 
calm  matrimonial  pool.  One  was  Trix's 
own  Mammy,  now  Tim's — a  plump,  amiable 
negress — very  sentimental,  very  pious,  full  of 
sayings  "dat  de  Lawd,"  with  whom  she 
seemed  to  be  on  intimate,  conversational 
terms,  "done  tole  her  Hisself."  Full  of 
faith  in  '*de  Quality,"  of  whom  Trix  and 
Sidney  were,  of  course,  the  highest  products, 
and  of  unutterable  scorn  for  all  "po'  white 
trash,"  among  whom,  unfortunately,  she 
reckoned  Alison  Stark,  the  other  of  these 
unique  beings,  an  old  Scotchwoman  from 
Dumfrieshire,  who  had  nursed  Sidney's  fath- 
er, and  then  descended  to  Sidney  as  Mam- 
3  23 


T  R  I  X    AND    O  V  E  R-V  M  IvM  O  O  N 

my  Henny  had  descended  to  Tim,  and  who 
was  now  housekeeper  at  Oldwood.  Between 
these  two  there  was  an  armed  truce,  which 
broke  out  sometimes  into  a  regular  border 
war;  and  then  Sidney,  who  was  the  only  living 
being  who  could  impress  with  some  idea  of 
authority  the  rock-ribbed  mind  of  Mrs.  Stark, 
and  Trix,  who  alone  could  calm  the  turbulent 
spirit  of  Mammy  Henny,  would  descend  like 
gods  from  their  machines  of  state  upon  the 
battle-field  and  restore  order  by  routing  both 
opponents. 

A  reserved  and  insultingly  respectful  dis- 
approval of  Trix  had  marked  Mrs.  Stark's 
demeanor  ever  since  her  master  had  brought 
the  former  as  a  bride  to  Oldwood,  but  she  was 
of  a  granite  reserve  in  her  expression  of  this 
feeling,  to  all  save  Mammy  Henny,  whom  she 
baited  on  occasion  with  the  skill  of  a  grim 
female  picador. 

"You  talks  sich  foolishness  'bout  ladies 
an'  hawses,"  Mammy  Henny  had  burst 
forth  at  her  one  day,  when  Trix  had  ridden 
off  astride  of  a  troublesome  two-year- old, 
"that  1  don'  b'lieve  youse  ever  jr^^/  a  lady 
or  a  hawse  in  yo'  ole  Scawtlan'!" 
24 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOQN 

"I'm  no  sae  weel  acquent  wi'  Virgeenia 
leddies,"  Alison  had  replied,  primly,  "but 
nae  Scotch  leddy  wad  lowp  on  yon  fleysome 
beast,  like  a  buik  on  a  fender." 

Alison's  similes  were  always  drawn  from 
her  own  experience,  and  what  grim-looking 
books  she  had  were  warped  from  being  set 
astride  of  her  fender,  to  mark  the  place, 
when  she  was  called  to  other  duties. 

"Gre't  day  in  de  mawnin'!"  Mammy 
Henny  had  exclaimed.  "Why  cyarn'  you 
talk  some  talk  folkses  kin  onderstan'  ?  I 
b'leeve  you  makes  up  harf  yo'  wuds  ez  you 
goes  'long,  ennyhow." 

"Woman,"  Alison  had  retorted,  "ye're 
nae  sae  fine  a  judge  o'  th'  Eenglish  lang- 
weedge  that  I  suld  mind  ye  ...  or  ony  black 
body  whatever  by  my  way  o't." 

"'Black  body!  Black  body!'"  Mammy 
Henny  had  chortled,  shaking  with  rage  hke 
a  dark,  wine  mould-jelly.  "It's  you'  heart 
dat's  black,  you  mean-moufed  ole  furriner! 
.  . .  You  ain'  I'arned  manners  f'um  yo'  Scotch 
'leddies,'  no  how,  an'  dat's  de  Lawd's  own 
truf!" 

"Truth    isna    a'ways    mannerly,"    Alison 

25 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

had  observed,  maintaining  the  granite  calm 
which  so  maddened  Mammy  Henny,  "but 
'tis  michty  heelthfu'." 

*'/  dunno  what  you  mean!"  Mammy  had 
snapped  back  at  her.  "And  I  don'  b'leeve 
Gawd  He  knows.  Go  on  talkin'  ef  it  he'ps 
you.  Dey  ain'  no  Chrish'un  kin  onderstan' 
you. 

"Chreestian!"  sniffed  AHson,  from  a  high 
tower  of  scorn. 

"/  said  C/zr/VA'z/n,"  called  Mammy,  from 
the  doorway.  "You  cyarn'  even  call  de 
name  uv  yo'  own  'ligion  right!  Ha-ha-ha!" 
And  she  disappeared  in  a  triumphing  relish 
of  negro  mirth,  leaving  Mrs.  Stark  to  digest 
the  acrid  fumes  of  her  silent  Scotch  in- 
dignation. 

It  was  two  days  after  her  last  doctoring  of 
the  gray  mare,  and  the  poor  beast  was  out 
of  danger,  when  Trix,  accompanied  by  Joe, 
went  over  to  "the  other  valley"  to  see  the 
Orion  colt.  Mr.  Pyke  Ruddle,  its  owner, 
lived  in  a  small  shanty  of  a  house,  in  a  clear- 
ing on  the  mountain-side,  and  as  they  rode  up 
they  could  see  two  or  three  horses  grazing  on 
26 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

a  steep  field,  through  which  the  "home  spring" 
sent  its  clear  waters  down  to  the  Blue  Ridge 
Valley  that  lay  below  them. 

"Now,  Joe,"  warned  Trix,  swinging  her- 
self from  her  clever  pony,  "don't  you  say  a 
word.  Just  you  let  me  do  it  all.  Look 
stupid,  Joe.  .  .  .  Look  as  stupid  as  you  can. 
.  .  .  All  I  want  with  you  is  to  help  me  get  him 
home  ...  if  I  decide  to  buy  him." 

"Yarse'm,  yarse'm — /  knows.  .  .  .  Trus' 
m^,"  said  Joe,  and  proceeded  to  water  the 
horses,  while  Mr.  Ruddle  advanced  to  greet 
his  mistress.  He  was  a  long,  lank,  gray,  clay- 
stained  man,  like  one  of  the  winter  weeds 
about  his  dwelling,  and  he  held  the  classic 
stick  in  his  hand,  at  which  he  whittled  as  he 
came  forward. 

"Mornin',  marm,  mornin',"  said  he,  chang- 
ing his  quid  and  spitting  discreetly  to  one  side, 
before  he  reached  her.  "Come  tuh  see  that 
thar  'Rion  colt  o'  mine,  I  reckon.  All  squar 
an'  fyar  between  us  et  all  times.  Mis'  Bruce, 
marm." 

Trix  met  him  with   a  candor  as  disarm- 
ing.    "Yes,   it's  the  colt  sure  enough,   Mr. 
Ruddle,"  said  she.     "Can  I  see  him  now.?" 
27 


TRIX    AND    QVER-THE-MOON 

"Sart'n'y,  marm,  sart'n'y,"  said  Mr.  Rud- 
dle, moving  a  few  feet  away  and  expectorat- 
ing on  the  other  side.  "One  er  them  httle 
buzzud  birds  done  tole  me  you  was  a-comin' 
hyah,  an'  I  hed  that  thar  colt  penned  up  fuh 
you  this  mawnin'.  Hi!  Jinny!  .  .  .  Tell 
Mose  tuh  lead  out  the  'Rion  colt.  Mis' 
Bruce,  hyuh,  wants  tuh  cyars'  a  eye  over 
him." 

Then  it  was  that  Trix  held  her  breath,  for 
she  set  high  hopes  on  this  scion  of  the  locally 
famous  stallion — and  when  Mose  appeared 
leading  the  roan  she  continued  to  hold  it,  so 
far  above  even  her  highest  hopes  was  the 
splendid  beast  that  confronted  her.  Just 
sixteen  hands  he  was,  with  a  line  from  muzzle 
to  tail  that  would  have  made  Hogarth  recon- 
struct his  famous  line  of  beauty;  ribbed  up 
to  his  hips  ...  a  child  could  just  have  laid 
a  hand  between  them  .  .  .  with  a  back  and 
loins  to  have  carried  Alexander  HI.  of  Russia 
like  a  toy,  and  a  crest  like  a  flexed  bow. 
The  powerful,  not  too  long  neck,  springing 
superbly  from  the  high  withers,  swept  for- 
ward into  a  small  head  that  seemed  to  end 
it  as  with  the  snap  of  a  whip-lash — at  least 
28 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

Trix  could  think  of  no  better  simile  for  the 
vivid,  dart-like  head,  poised  high,  like  a 
snake's  over  the  most  perfect  throttle  she 
had  ever  seen.  And  what  a  shoulder!  The 
light  slid  along  it  as  along  an  oblique  slab 
of  wet,  blue  slate — a  shoulder  to  land  you 
as  on  springs  over  the  biggest  drop  in  two 
counties.  His  legs,  clean  and  flat  at  the 
sides  as  an  open  hand,  seemed  made  of  steel 
and  rubber,  and  the  big  round  hoofs  kept 
leaving  the  ground,  with  soft,  elastic  motions 
that  set  in  play  every  firm  muscle  in  the 
lithe  body,  under  its  sheath  of  grape-blue 
satin.  There  were  burs,  alas!  in  the  fine  floss 
of  mane  and  tail,  but  he  wore  them  like  a  king 
parading  in  beggar's  clothes  on  some  holiday. 
It  seemed,  indeed,  as  though  he  regarded  life 
as  a  holiday,  squaring  his  red  nostrils  and 
looking  far  out  into  the  wide  air  with  an  eye 
that  quivered  with  brilliant  malice  in  its  great 
socket. 

It  was  this  eye  that  gave  Trix  pause  for 
an  instant,  though  she  denied  it  to  herself 
the  next,  and  subsequently  to  every  one  else. 
Then  she  decided  on  her  course.  Hers  was 
not  the  method  of  ordinary  dealers. 
29 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MOON 

"He's  a  beauty,  Mr.  Ruddle,"  said  she. 
"There's  no  mistake  about  that." 

"No,  marm — I  don'  reckon  thar's  no  mis- 
take 'bout  that,"  acquiesced  Mr.  Ruddle, 
whistling  soberly. 

"He's  sound,  I  suppose?" 

"Ez  a  gole  dollar,"  said  Mr.  Ruddle. 
"You  kin  have  all  the  vets  you  wants  explorin' 
uv  him,  if  you  Hkes." 

"I'll  just  look  him  over  myself  after  a 
while  .  .  .  thank  you,"  answered  Trix. 
"But  how  about  his  manners.?  ...  Is  he 
kind .?  .  .  .  Has  he  any  vices .?  .  .  .  Any 
tricks  .?  .  .  .  You  know,  Orion's  colts  haven't 
a  very  good  name  for  temper,  Mr.  Rud- 
dle." 

"Wellum,"  said  Mr.  Ruddle,  sharpening 
his  stick  to  a  careful  point  and  then  squaring 
it  again,  "the  fac'  is,  he  is  a  leetle  hasty  at 
times  .  .  .  w\ants  his  own  way,  you  know  .... 
But  lor!  All  women  an'  hawses  ez  is  wuth 
shucks  is  that  a-way  .  .  .  'scuse  me,  marm  .  .  . 
but  it  sart'n'y  is  so." 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  well,"  said  she,  "but 
what  I  want  to  know  is  if  there's  any  real 
meanness  in  him  .?" 

30 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"He  ain't  no  man-eater  .  .  .  I'll  ansv^^er  fo' 
that,''  said  Mr.  Ruddle. 

"  How  is  he  in  the  stable  ?  .  .  .  Does  he  fight 
the  other  horses  ?" 

"  Jes  ez  quiet  ez  a  baby  in  its  cradle.  .  .  . 
I  reely  don't  think  he's  got  a  mite  o'  reel  mean- 
ness in  him,  Mis'  Bruce,  marm.  He's  sorter 
wile  like  a'  times.  .  .  .  Jest  look  at  him!  .  .  . 
What  else  could  you  'spect  from  a  critter  like 
that  thar  .?" 

And  Trix,  who  had  never  stopped  looking 
at  him  for  an  instant,  decided  that  the  birth- 
right of  sheer,  "plumb"  amazing  beauty  was 
his  to  be  "wile  like  at  times"  over,  without 
undue  criticism  from  less  favored  beings. 

"That's  all  right,"  she  said  again.  "I 
don't  mind  that — but  I  must  know  him  a  lot 
better  before  I  decide  to  buy  him,  you  know." 

"Git  friends  with  him  all  you  want,"  said 
Mr.  Ruddle,  benevolently;  "the  more  you 
know  him  the  better  you'll  like  him,  or  I  was 
foaled  only  yestiddy  an'  don't  know  a  mule- 
colt  from  a  zebry." 

Trix  now  went  up  to  "git  friends"  with  the 
three-year-old,  who  sidled  away  from  her  at 
first,  and  then  stood  spread,  blowing  long 
31 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOQN 

blasts  of  inquiry  from  his  scarlet  nostrils.  He 
finally  let  her  handle  him,  as  all  horses  ended 
by  doing  sooner  or  later,  and  explored  her 
jacket  thoroughly,  and  even  her  hair  and  cap, 
in  search  of  the  apple  or  sugar  which  he  was 
evidently  used  to. 

"  Bin  a  gre't  pet  ...  a  gre't  pet  with  all  the 
child'un,"  said  Mr.  Ruddle,  condescending 
to  a  brief  smile.  "Reckon  Mose  hyah  '11  take 
tuh  the  trundle  when  Frank  goes.  .  .  ." 

"Oh!"  cried  Trix,  horrified.  ** You've  nev- 
er called  him  Frank,  Mr.  Ruddle  V 

"En  why  not.?"  asked  he.  "'Frank'  's 
a  mighty  sound,  hones'  name,  an'  wouldn't 
hurt  no  hawse.  I  dun'no'  'zackly  how  he 
come  tuh  be  called  Frank,  though.  .  .  .  Hit 
jes  sorter  growed  up  with  him." 

"He  sha'n't  be  called  Frank  if/  get  him," 
said  Trix,  really  nettled  at  the  idea  of  such  a 
horse  with  such  a  name.  "One  might  as  well 
call  Julius  CiEsar  Fred,'"  she  ended,  scathingly. 

"Wa-al,"  said  Mr.  Ruddle,  agreeable  to  all 
points  of  view,  "I  dessay  his  women  folks  did 
shorten  that  name  of  his'n  fuh  home  use. 
You  cyarn'  picture  his  fambly  settin'  roun' 
til'  table  an'  his  wife  axin',  '  Julius  Caesar, 
32 


T  R  I  X    AND    O  V  E  R-T  H  E-M  Q  O  N 

please  to  parse  the  butter/   kin  you,   now  ? 
Hyah!     Hyah!" 

But  Trix  was  absorbed  in  picking  up  the 
great,  clean  feet,  with  their  springy  frogs,  one 
after  the  other,  and  singing  a  little  song  of 
pure  triumph  in  her  heart  as  she  did  so. 

"You  won't  find  nothin'  thar  you  couldn't 
eat  ofF'n  same  ez  off'n  a  clean  plate,"remarked 
Mr.  Ruddle,  with  quiet  security.  "That's  a 
hawse,  Mis'  Bruce,  marm,  an'  the  mo'  you 
'zamine  him,  the  mo'  hawse  you'll  fin'  him." 

This  turned  out  to  be  so,  and  Trix  finally 
retired  to  a  snake  fence  in  the  company  of 
Mr.  Ruddle,  and  producing  a  jack-knife  from 
her  pocket,  began  to  whittle  too.  There  was 
quite  a  little  pile  of  shavings  about  their  feet 
when  they  had  finally  come  to  an  understand- 
ing, which  was  to  the  effect  that  Trix  was  to 
have  the  roan  for  a  week's  trial  ..."  bein'  ez 
we're  sich  ole  friends  in  the  bizness,  an'  you 
bought  a  many  colt  from  me  an'  paid  cash," 
said  Mr.  Ruddle.  .  .  .  Then,  in  case  she  decided 
to  keep  him — and  well  Mr.  Ruddle  knew  what 
her  decision  would  be — she  was  to  give  him 
five  hundred  down,  with  a  consideration  for 
the  first  cup  that  he  won. 
33 


TRIX     AND    0VKR-THP:-M00N 

"That's  a  big  price  for  him,  you  know," 
she  had  said.  "And  I  won't  pretend  to  you 
that  I  would  sell  him  for  ten  times  that  if  he 
turns  out  as  I  hope  he  will,  .  .  .  but  you  see, 
Mr.  Ruddle,  you've  got  to  take  into  account 
what  my  handling  of  him  will  mean,  and  his 
feed  and  keep  and  expenses  from  place  to 
place,  and  the  name  I've  made  for  such  things, 
in  case  I  ever  want  to  sell  him.  .  .  ." 

"Uv  co'se,  uv  co'se,"  replied  Mr.  Ruddle. 
''You  ain't  think  /  ain't  think  of  all  that,  hev 
you  ?  Thar,  you  jes  go  'long  easy  in  yo'  min'. 
An'  if  he  don'  yank  all  the  ribbons  from  the 
Yanks  fuh  you,  then  ?ny  name's  Frank,  an' 
not  his'n!" 

With  which  parting  pun  Mr.  Ruddle 
slouched  slowly  back  to  the  shanty,  dang- 
Hng  the  empty  rope  which  had  held  the 
stately  head  of  the  'Rion  colt. 


IV 


IT  was  ten  days  after  the  'Rion  colt's  ar- 
rival. Mr.  Ruddle  had  been  paid  his  five 
hundred,  and  Trix  was  in  her  own  room,  in 
stays  and  petticoat,  sewing  madly  on  the 
machine.  Her  time  was  as  brimming  over 
as  usual,  for  she  had  to  finish  a  just-begun 
white  satin  gown  for  the  Richmond  German 
by  Monday  (it  was  Thursday),  a  habit  for 
the  next  day's  drag,  and  to  be  ready  at  four 
o'clock  to  go  over  to  the  schooling-ground 
with  her  new  purchase.  Tim  stood  near 
her,  hands  behind  back,  watching  the  dart- 
ing needle  in  that  deep  fascination  that  all 
machinery  had  for  him.  As  the  wheel 
whirred,  and  the  needle  stabbed,  and  her 
pretty  feet,  bare,  in  their  red  slippers,  worked 
the  treadle  vigorously,  Trix's  thoughts  ran 
back  and  forth  like  the  shuttle  in  a  loom. 
.  .  .  First  the  drag  shot  forward  in  her  mind, 
35 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

.  .  .  What  a  nuisance  it  was  that  the  foxes 
so  seldom  ran  straight  in  that  county  .  .  . 
taking  to  the  mountains  .  .  ,  Httle  idiots!  .  .  . 
and  turning  the  hunt  into  a  sort  of  Alpine  ex- 
pedition! .  .  .  Then  that  horrid  way,  the 
local  people  had  of  "marking"  them  "so's 
to  know  'em  ag'in,"  if  they  decided  not  to 
kill  .  .  .  snipping  off  a  bit  of  an  ear  or  nick- 
ing a  brush.  .  .  .  And  the  hounds!  ,  .  .  Poor 
brutes!  .  .  .  lugged  to  the  meet  in  a  crate,  and 
then  dumped  out  yowling  and  towling,  to 
catch  the  scent  as  they  pleased,  while  the  field 
plumped  after  them  or  on  them  ...  it  was  nip 
and  tuck  as  to  which  .  .  .  heedless  of  the 
master's  infuriated  yells  .  .  .  while  the  first 
whip  (Trix  herself)  tried  to  bring  things  into 
some  sort  of  shape.  .  .  .  No  .  .  .  one  thing  was 
certain.  .  .  .  She  whisked  out  the  white  satin 
bodice  and  looked  frowningly  at  a  little  oil- 
drop  that  was  spreading  on  it  near  the  bot- 
tom. .  .  .  Well  .  .  .  thank  Heaven,  that  part 
went  under  the  belt  at  any  rate!  .  .  .  Then 
click!  .  .  .  And  it  was  under  the  needle  again 
and  the  lever  down,  and  a  seam  as  smooth 
as  bonny-clabber  running  up  its  glossy  side. 
.  .  .  No  .  .  .  one  thing  was  certain.  .  .  .  She 
36 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MQON 

must  have  some  hounds  of  her  own  .  .  .  six 
couple,  say,  to  begin  with.  .  .  .  Joe  could  be 
first  whip  and  Ashton  second  (she  would 
teach  them  the  true  use  of  horns  at  a  covert, 
too — not  a  toot  that  didn't  mean  something, 
either  on  her  side  or  theirs),  and  she  would 
be  Master  .  .  .  the  first  Lady-Master  in 
America  .  .  .  hurrah!  .  .  . 

"Laws,  muvver!"  said  Tim,  jumping,  '*you 
cert'n'y  did  scare  me."  But  Trix  had  already 
snipped  out  an  armhole  that  she  wanted  larger 
and  was  busily  sewing  it  up  under  that  flash- 
ing, intelligent-looking  needle  that  so  thrilled 
Tim's  heart. 

.  .  .  She  would  have  a  big  lot  wired  in  for 
them,  and  open  kennels,  and  she  would  ex- 
ercise them  herself,  with  Joe  and  Ashton  in 
attendance  .  .  .  Joe  was  so  "'reserved"  and 
reasonable — he'd  make  a  splendid  first  whip 
— no  cutting  into  of  young  hounds  for  a  baby- 
ish fault  and  very  little  rating.  Then  sud- 
denly she  began  to  giggle  softly,  as  she  re- 
membered her  first  venture  in  hounds  .  .  . 
years  ago  .  .  .  before  Tim  was  born.  .  .  . 
What  a  lolloping,  trolloping  lot  they  had  been, 
to  be  sure  .  .  .  ten  in  all,  skirters  and  babblers 
-^1 


TRIX     AND    OVKR-T  HE-MOON 

mostly,  of  which  three,  however,  ran  mute, 
and  the  rest  after  sheep,  chickens,  rabbits, 
even  calves  and  pickaninnies.  .  .  .  She  had 
kept  them  at  the  mill,  and  Mrs.  Parley  had 
come  up  one  day  to  say,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
that  "Uther  them  houn'  dawgs  must  go  or 
she'd  hev  to.  .  .  .  She  couldn't  keep  a  aig  to 
her  name  ...  let  alone  a  chicken.  An'  they 
tuck  the  meat  off'n  the  table  and  had  killed 
her  spotted  kitten  only  that  morning.  .  .  ." 

"  But  this  time,"  said  Trix  to  herself,  finish- 
ing the  other  sleeve,  and  taking  her  feet  from 
the  treadle  to  run  scales  with  her  cramped 
toes,  'Uhis  time  it  will  be  different.  ...  I  must 
break  it  gently  to  Sidney,  though.  .  .  .  He'll 
have  a  fit  at  first,  I  'spect." 

Then  whisk!  .  .  .  from  bed  to  machine- 
table,  and  the  white  satin  skirt  was  under  the 
needle  this  time,  and  the  small  feet,  now 
slipperless,  again  on  the  treadle. 

"Oh,  that  beauty!  .  .  .  that  beautv!"  It  was 
the  "'Rion  colt"  of  which  she  was  thinking 
now.  .  .  .  "That  gorgeous  king  of  the  horses 
.  .  .  Lord !  what  a  commotion  he'll  make  when 
I've  got  him  in  shape  and  first  ride  him  into  a 
show-ring."  And  her  conscience  smote  her  a 
38 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

little  over  that  five  hundred  down.  .  .  .  "He's 
worth  a  cool  thousand  at  the  very  least,  just 
green  as  he  is.  .  .  .  But  then  Ruddle  couldn't 
have  got  it  to  save  his  life.  .  .  .  Couldn't  have 
smelt  five  hundred  even  'cept  from  me.  .  .  . 
Oh,  it's  all  right.  .  .  .  Certainly  it  is,"  she 
w^ound  up,  and  paused  for  another  moment 
to  ask  Tim  to  bring  her  a  glass  of  water. 

The  room  in  which  Trix  was  sewing,  her 
bedroom,  was  quite  unique.  There  could  not 
be  another  like  it  in  this  unoriginal  world.  It 
was  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  house,  in  an  odd 
wing,  and  on  each  of  three  sides  there  were 
two  windows,  arched  at  the  top  and  set  above 
with  Colonial  "fans"  of  white  wood.  Of 
these  six  windows,  two,  of  course,  looked  tow- 
ard the  stables,  and  from  where  she  sat  sew- 
ing Trix  could  glance  out  over  the  slanting 
lawn  into  the  stable  paddock  and  see  the  colts 
at  play  and  the  heavy  brood-mares  in  a  near 
field,  grazing  languidly,  and  patiently  await- 
ing their  spring  families.  This  room  was 
lined  with  a  square  panelling  of  wood,  painted 
white,  and  around  it,  hung  against  the  panels, 
ran  a  series  of  old  hunting  prints.  .  .  .  The 
famous  moonlight  steeplechase,  where  sport- 
♦  39 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-AIOON 

ive  "bucks"  in  their  night-shirts  leaped  river- 
like brooks,  and  charged  buUtinches  which 
only  an  elephant  armed  with  spikes  for  war 
could  have  got  through.  And  some  funny 
old  French  bits,  hung  there,  one  strongly 
suspected,  only  to  accentuate  the  superiority 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  in  all  things  pertaining 
to  the  gentle  art  of  "Venerie."  .  .  .  And  in 
between  these  prints,  within  hand's  reach,  pet 
bridles,  pieces  of  show  harness,  riding-crops, 
tandem-whips,  odd  devices,  .  .  .  some  invented 
by  Trix  .  .  .  for  subduing  "pullers"  and 
"borers."  The  portieres  of  gray  chamois- 
skin  that  hung  before  two  closets  looked  like 
some  queer  sort  of  mail,  with  their  array  of 
burnishers  and  bits.  .  .  .  On  a  saddle-tree  to 
one  side  was  a  favorite  Champion  and  Wilton 
that  Trix  was  stuffing  herself,  because  they 
didn't  do  it  to  suit  her  in  New  York,  and  she 
hadn't  the  time  to  send  it  all  the  way  to 
London.  In  a  big  basket  to  the  left  was  a 
feeble  March  lamb  that  had  come  into  a 
chilly  world  too  soon,  and  that  Trix  and 
Tim  fed  at  regular  intervals  from  a  bottle 
with  a  sponge  in  it.  On  the  hearth-rug  lay 
Nibs  and  a  strapping  Ayrdale  puppy  of  six 
40 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

months,  and  on  trees  along  one  wall  were 
riding-boots,  black  and  brown,  in  every  stage 
of  muddiness  and  polish,  awaiting  the  know- 
ing hand  of  Trix  herself,  who  would  trust  no 
one  else  to  care  for  them. 

A  corner  bookcase  held  her  well-worn 
library.  No  danger  of  false  backs  or  uncut 
pages  here.  .  .  .  Jane  Eyre  cheek  by  jowl  with 
Stotiehenge  On  the  Horse;  Kim  hobnobbing 
comfortably  with  Mr.  Jorrocks.  .  .  .  Under 
Two  Flags  tucked  away  between  Captain 
Hayes'  Through  Stable  and  Harjiess-Room, 
and  his  work  on  The  Breaking  and  Manage- 
ment of  Horses.  .  .  .  Whyte  Melville,  still  con- 
tented in  his  Riding^  Recollectiofis  and  the  com- 
pany  of  The  Cream  of  Lestershire,  and  below 
him,  on  two  shelves,  the  whole  set  of  his  nov- 
els. An  Irish  R.M.  and  All  On  the  Irish 
Shore  were  ranged  with  the  Badington  Ken- 
nelsy  while  on  a  little  side  shelf,  by  themselves, 
Horace  and  the  Bible  lived  in  solitary  state. 

But  the  crowning  wonder  of  this  room  was 
the  bedstead,  which  Trix,  herself  in  a  creative 
mood,  had  designed  and  had  made  to  order. 
Anything  more  incongruous  or  out  of  key 
with  the  rest  of  the  apartment  can  scarcely  be 
41 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

imagined.  It  looked  like  the  fruit  of  some 
gaudy  nightmare  materialized  under  the  cun- 
ning hand  of  a  mad  hatter.  It  was  enormous, 
squat,  and  broad  .  .  .  like  a  flat  island  of 
white  enamel  and  wrought  brass  in  the  sea  of 
troubles  that  swelled  about  it.  It  had  little 
rails  here  and  little  posts  there,  and  rivets  and 
bands  of  brass,  that  seemed  of  no  use  what- 
ever .  .  .  and  a  hard,  sharp  edge  that  bit  the 
knees  of  the  unwary  who  sought  to  mount 
upon  it.  .  .  .  It  choked  up  the  room,  and  no 
mattress  could  be  invented  to  fit  it  that  didn't 
cave  in  toward  the  middle  after  a  month's 
use.  Stodgy  and  gaunt  and  glaring,  it  dom- 
ineered over  the  rest  of  the  trim  furniture,  like 
an  old  town  dowager  over  an  assembly  of 
country  mice,  and  Trix,  in  her  heart  of  hearts, 
doted  on  it  as  one  of  her  chief  achievements, 
despite  Sidney's  sarcasm,  and  cherished  it 
fondly,  polishing  its  brazen  splendor  with  her 
own  hands  and  her  pet  chamois-skin.  Such 
is  the  weakness  of  the  master  painter  who 
thinks  that  he  can  better  compose  Oratorios. 
"There,  Tim,"  she  said,  finally,  snipping 
off  a  thread  with  her  white  teeth,  small  and 
sharp  as  a  young  vixen's,  "run  along  to  the 
42 


"THERE.    TIM,    RUN     ALONG    AND    TELL    JOE    TO    SADDLE     THE     ''RION 

COLT  ■  •• 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MOON 

stable  and  tell  Joe  to  saddle  the  '  'Rion  colt' 
.  .  .  cant  think  of  a  proper  name  for  that 
horse!  .  .  .  with  my  second-best  saddle,  and 
get  Horace  for  himself.  I'll  be  ready  in 
twenty  minutes  now,  just  as  soon  as  I  give 
this  stuffing  a  stitch  or  too.  .  .  .  And  hi!  .  .  . 
Wait!  .  .  .  Tell  Ashton  to  bring  along  the 
two  ponies,  and  Gleam  and  Firefly.  .  .  .  Run 
now!  .  .  ." 

She  seated  herself  astride  a  little  three- 
legged  blue  stool  that  she  had  used  as  a  baby 
to  eat  her  porridge  off  of,  and  fell  to  with 
squared  elbows  on  her  saddle,  just  as  Sidney, 
patting  a  square  of  manuscript  into  shape,  en- 
tered by  the  door  of  the  dressing-room. 

"Very  busy.^"  said  he.  .  .  .  "There's  a  bit 
here  I'd  like  to  read  you  ...  if  you've  got 
time.  .  .  .  My  stars,  Trix,  you  do  look  a  duck 
like  that!  .  .  ."  And  he  stood  watching  her 
with  a  little  smile  of  proprietorship,  as  she 
swung  to  and  fro,  punching  in  and  pulling 
far  out  the  huge  needle  with  its  waxed  flax 
thread.  Trix  was  built  more  like  a  beautiful 
boy  than  a  woman,  with  an  arched  chest, 
flat,  muscular  back,  no  hips,  and  pretty,  thin 
flanks,  and  as  she  moved  her  arms  and 
43 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THK-MOON 

shoulders  in  the  stiff  bit  of  work  that  occupied 
her,  the  muscles  ran  to  and  fro  in  ripples  under 
her  white  skin. 

All  her  dark  red  mane  was  bunched  on  top 
of  her  small  head  to  be  out  of  the  way,  and  a 
little  "beauty  spot,"  generally  covered  by  the 
big  plait,  called  for  a  kiss  on  the  nape  of  her 
bending  throat.  Sidney  promptly  answered 
its  summons,  and  Trix,  as  promptly,  stuck  him 
quite  hard  with  her  needle. 

"Hands  off,"  said  she,  "if  you  want  me  to 
criticise.  ...  I  can't  play  Juliet  and  critic  and 
mend  a  saddle  all  at  the  same  time."  But 
Sidney  was  decidedly  inclined  to  be  senti- 
mental. 

"What  a  little  vixen  you  are,  Trix!"  said 
he,  pinching  his  pricked  hand,  but  still  smil- 
ing. "You've  got  the  prettiest,  queerest  eyes 
.  .  .  just  the  color  of  Brazilian  beetles  they 
are.  .  .  . 

"Thanks,"  said  Trix.  "Why  don't  you 
put  that  in  a  book  ?  .  .  .  'She  turned  on  him 
her  beetle-like  eyes  swimming  with  affection.' 
.  .  .  That  would  sound  original,  don't  you 
think.?" 

"It  would  sound  very  untruthful.  ...  I 
44 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

can't  fancy  your  eyes  'swimming  with  affec- 
tion' .  .  .  Wish  they  would.  .  ,  ." 

"Well,  they  won't,"  said  she.  "Why  don't 
you  read  me  what  you  wanted  to  .?  .  .  .  I've 
really  got  to  go  in  a  few  minutes.  ...  I  can't 
keep  that  'Rion  colt  standing  a  second." 

"Well  .  .  .  here  goes,"  said  Sidney.  .  .  . 
"See  if  you  like  this  any  better  than  the 
last " 

And  he  read  her  a  labored  and  ponderous- 
ly facetious  description  of  the  advance  of  a 
subtle,  many  -  sided  heroine  through  the 
newspaper  building  where  the  hero  was  at 
work. 

Trix  laid  down  her  needle,  and,  clasping 
both  hands  behind  her  head,  leaned  back 
against  the  saddle  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"Sidney,"  she  said,  "why  don't  you  stop 
trying  to  write  first  in  this  style  and  then  in 
that,  and  write  just  as  things  come  to  you  .? 
One  day  it's  Henry  James,  and  another 
Stevenson,  and  another  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  to-day  it's 
George  Meredith.  .  .  ." 

"What  do  you  know  about  George  Mere- 
dith ?"  asked  Sidney,  nettled,  as  usual,  and  as 
usual  listening  to  her. 
45 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"I  know  a-plenty  to  know  that's  trying  to 
be  like  him  ...  in  his  manner  .  .  .  you  see," 
she  went  on  candidly.  "I  did  read  Diana  of 
the  Crossways  once  because  I  began  it,  and 
I  like  to  finish  things  when  I  begin  'em.  I 
took  it  up  because  'Diana'  and  'Crossways' 
sounded  as  if  there  might  be  hunting  in  it 
somewhere.  .  .  .  Oh,  you  can  snicker!  .  .  .  but 
I  remember  enough  of  it  to  know  that's  meant 
to  be  like  it,"  and  she  flipped  the  manuscript 
with  an  impudent  forefinger. 

Sidney  looked  disconsolate. 

"  Right  you  are,"  said  he.  "  It's  a  fact.  .  .  . 
You've  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  as  usual. 
.  .  .  The  fact  is,  I've  come  to  a  sort  of  a  stick- 
ing-place  where  I'm  critic  and  writer  in  one, 
and  tear  every  single  sentence  I  write  to  pieces, 
and  then  patch  it  together  again  in  some  other 
man's  way.  I  wish  you  cared  more  about 
such  things,  Trix.  You're  an  awfully  clever 
child.  ...  I  know  you  could  help  me." 

"I  do  care  ...  I  can  help  you,"  said  she. 

"Well,  then?" 

"'Catch  'em  alive!  .  .  .  Catch  'em  alive! 
.  .  .  Catch  'em  alive!  .  .  .'"  she  chanted,  taking 
up  her  needle  again.  "Take  living,  breathing 
46 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

men  and  women  that  you're  interested  in,  and 
plump  'em  into  a  book.  .  .  .  Don't  fuss  so 
about  their  clothes  .  .  .  the  style  you  dress  'em 
up  in,  you  know.  You  just  end  .  .  .  you  do — 
I  don't  mean  those  other  writers  that  know 
how — but  you  just  end  in  having  a  lot  of 
stylish  dolls  moving  about.  .  .  .  My  stars! 
What  a  pun!  ...  I  vow  I  didn't  mean  to 
make  it,  Sidney.  .  .  .  Dont  kiss  me.  .  .  ." 

'*It  sounds  mighty  easy,"  said  Sidney, 
accepting  her  rebuff  with  resignation. 
''Just  be  natural  .  .  .  just  be  easy  .  .  .  just  be 
simple  .  .  ." 

"You  used  to  be  all  three  .  .  .  before  you 
decided  that  you  had  a  career,"  said  Trix, 
astutely.  "You  remind  me  of  something  I 
heard  once  about  the  Japanese  .  .  .  that  they 
say  their  prayers  looking  at  their  own  eyes 
in  a  mirror.  .  .  .  You're  just  praying  to  Fame 
and  staring  at  your  own  eyes  in  a  glass  all 
the  time,  Sidney.  That's  what's  the  matter 
with  you.  .  .  .  That's  why  you  don't  like  your 
own  books  .  .  .  and  that's  why  people  won't 
buy  'em.  And  then,  dear  me,  Sidney!  .  .  . 
You've  such  a  harem  of  heroines  that  aren't 
like  any  one  in  the  heavens  above  or  the 
47 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

earth  beneath  or  the  waters  under  the 
earth.  ...  At  least,  not  Hke  any  one  /  ever 
saw  .  .  . 

"  Don't  you  care  at  all  for  Clothilde 
Gormington .? "  asked  Sidney,  rather  wist- 
fully. 

"No,  /  loathe  her,"  said  Trix,  energetically, 
'*  self-conscious,  abnormal,  morbid,  weird- 
eyed  thing!  ...  I  know  she  never  took  any 
exercise,  and  wouldn't  know  a  horse's  head 
from  his  'hurdies,'  as  Alison  would  say. 
She's  always  curving  among  cushions,  or 
'slithering'  .  .  .  whatever  that  is  .  .  .  through 
twilight  shadows  .  .  .  and  talking  chapters  of 
dull  subtleties  with  that  anaemic  Brossle- 
thwaite.  I  can't  think  where  you  get  your 
names,  Sidney.  ...  I  loathe  them  too  .  .  . 
Michael  Brosslethwaite  and  Clothilde  Gor- 
mington.  .  .  .  Why,  they're  enough  to  kill  a 
book  in  themselves  .  .  ." 

"  I  thought  they  were  rather  good,  do  you 
know,"  said  Sidney,  still  more  crestfallen. 
"I  .  .  .  er  .  .  .  made  them  up." 

"Well,  they  sound   like  it,"   said   matter- 
of-fact  Trix.     "  And  the  people  do,  too  .  .  . 
sound  made  up,  I  mean.  .  .  .  Dear  me!   What 
^8 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

a  beautiful  case  of  'subtle  jealousy'  I  might 
get  up  over  your  heroines,  Sidney  .  .  .  there 
never  has  been  one  that  had  even  a  hint  of 
me  in  her  .  .  .  great  long-legged,  full-busted, 
die-away  creatures.  .  .  .  who  read  the  Sym- 
bolists and  talk  in  broken  sentences.  .  .  .  And 
you  do  fall  so  in  love  with  'em  while  you're 
writing  about  'em.  I  do  believe  when  you 
kiss  me  you  think  you're  kissing  your  last 
heroine.  ..." 

And  she  laughed  and  glanced  up  at  him 
shrewdly  out  of  the  gold-green  eyes  that  he 
had  likened  to  Brazilian  beetles, 

"What  nonsense!"  said  Sidney;  but  he 
looked  uncomfortable,  and  Trix,  pursu- 
ing her  advantage,  ran  him  into  a  cor- 
ner. 

"Why  don't  you  put  me  in  a  book.?"  she 
asked,  teasingly.  "I'm  alive  and  real,  and 
if  you  made  me  talk  and  act  naturally,  you 
wouldn't  have  time  to  agonize  over  'style.' 
.  .  .  Do  put  me  in  a  book,  Sidney  .  .  .  beetle 
eyes  and  all!" 

"If  I  could  do  it  successfully,  I'd  make  my 
fortune,  you  little  'warmint,'"  said  he,  with 
some  thoughtfulness.     "But  I  couldn't.  .  .  . 
49 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

You're  beyond  my  humble  pen,  Beatrix 
Bruce." 

"It's  'cause  you  don't  know  or  care  enough 
'bout  horses,"  teased  Trix,  who  always  said 
"'cause"  and  '"cept"  and  "'bout"  and 
'"zactly"  when  she  was  much  in  earnest. 
"Come  along  with  me  to  the  schooling-ground 
this  afternoon,  and  see  the  king  of  all  the 
horses  do  his  stunts  .  .  ." 

"Would  you  really  like  me  to.^"  said 
Sidney,  whose  head  felt  hollow  and  fluffy 
with  much  putting  together  of  word-bricks 
without  the  straw  of  a  natural  style,  and 
to  whom  the  unusual  prospect  seemed  really 
pleasant. 

"'Course  I  would,"  she  said,  and  smiled 
at  him.  Trix  had  a  little,  slanting  eye-tooth 
which  sometimes  caught  her  red  upper  lip 
when  she  smiled,  and  gave  it  a  tantalizing 
quirk,  very  charming. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Trix  ...  be  nice,"  said 
Sidney,  and  bent  and  kissed  her  again.  But 
she  did  not  rebuff  him  this  time. 

"  Poor  old  boy  .  .  .  looks  wcrry  tired,"  said 
she,  kissing  him  back  very  nicely  indeed. 
"Come  along.  .  .  .  You  shall  ride  your  beloved 
50 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

Ben  Bolt  .  .  .  the  disgrace  of  my  stables  .  .  . 
and  I  won't  say  a  word  against  him." 

Ben  Bolt  was  a  singular  nag  that  had 
belonged  to  Sidney  when  a  boy,  and  the  two 
hung  together  with  an  affection  as  curious  as 
the  horse's  appearance  and  character. 


THEY  went  down  the  flag  walk  to  the 
stables,  Trix  swinging  her  hands  hap- 
pily first  before  and  then  behind  her,  and 
singing  bits  of  Horace  at  him  as  they  walked. 

"*But  fling  aside  delays  and  thoughts  of 
gain  (of  fame,  Sidney),  and  mindful,  while 
yet  it  may  be,  of  the  dark  fires,  mix  with 
your  meditations  a  brief  folly:  "'tis  sweet  at 
fitting  times  to  lose  our  wisdom.'"" 

"You're  the  oddest  mixture,"  said  Sidney, 
regarding  her  curiously.  "  How  in  the  world 
do  you  keep  all  that  Latin  in  your  horsey 
little  brain  .?  Mine's  clean  gone,  except  for 
understanding  very  familiar  bits,  and  I  got 
a  first  B  on  it  at  the  University,  too." 

"As  to  that,"  she  said,  "I  couldn't  scan 

or  parse  or  understand   a  line  of  Virgil   to 

save  my  life  .  .  .  but  I've  had  these  bits  by 

heart  since  I  was  fourteen.     I  b'lieve  I  was 

52 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOQN 

cow-girl,  or  a  goat-girl,  or  something  of  the 
sort  on  Horace's  farm.  .  .  .  That's  why  it 
sticks  so,  I  suppose  ...  his  verses  and  farm- 
ing, both.  Look  at  that,  Sidney,  and  forget 
your  novelHng,  and  be  just  happy  like  a  horse 
and  me." 

And  waving  a  brown  hand  toward  the 
rolling  fields,  now  misted  with  the  green  of 
young  oats  and  grass,  she  began  her  little, 
gay  sing-song  again. 

"  '  Keen  winter  is  melting  away  beneath  the 
welcome  change  to  spring  .  .  .  and  the  herd  no 
more  delights  in  its  stall  nor  the  ploughman  in 
his  fire,  and  with  hoar-frosts  the  meadows  are 
not  white.  .  .  .  Around  you  a  hundred  flocks 
bleat  and  cows  of  Sicily  (of  Herefordshire) 
low;  for  you  the  mare  trained  for  the  chariot 
(show-ring)  raises  its  neighing.'  But  here  we 
are,  and  there's  the  "Rion  colt.'  .  .  .  Now  just 
'cyars'  yo'  eye  over  him,'  as  Mr.  Ruddle 
would  say,  and  tell  me  if  he  wouldn't  console 
George  Meredith  himself  for  a  neglected 
chapter." 

The  '"Rion  colt,"  haughty  and  condescend- 
ing, was  regarding  the  distant  landscape 
with  head  flung  high  while  Joe  saddled  him. 
53 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

Occasionally  he  gave  a  disdainful  flick  at  the 
ground  under  him,  as  though  saying,  "How  is 
it  that  I  stand  on  mere  clay  ?  Tiberius  would 
have  shod  me  with  thrice-refined  gold,"  .  .  . 
and  once  or  twice  he  gave  a  sort  of  whispered 
nicker,  as  though  calling  to  some  dream-mate 
that  haunted  for  him  the  throbbing  spring 
horizon, 

*'By  George!  He  is  a  stunner,"  exclaimed 
Sidney,  as  much  impressed  as  even  Trix  could 
have  desired.  '*/  mayn't  know  a  horse's 
head  from  his  *hurdies,'  like  my  heroines, 
in  the  technical  sense  .  .  .  but  I  know  out- 
rageous beauty  when  I  see  it.  .  .  .  Lord !  Trix 
.  .  .  You  ought  to  win  a  gold  cup  with  that 
chap.  .  .  .  What  are  you  going  to  call 
him  .f"' 

** That's  what  bothers  me  night  and  day," 
said  she.  "  I  can't  find  a  name  for  him,  try 
as  hard  as  I  may.  I've  thought  of  dozens, 
but  none  of  them  fit.  Can't  you  help, 
Sidney  .f*  A  'man  of  letters'  ought  to  be  able 
to  help  .  .  ." 

*** Splendour'  wouldn't  be  bad  .  .  .  would 
it.?" 

"'Splendour'  .  .  .  'Splendour'  .  .  .  Yes  .  .  . 
54 


TRIX    AxND    OVER-THE-MOON 

No  .  .  .  That  is  .  .  .  No,  I  don't  think  I  Hke  it. 
Try  again  .  ,  ." 

"Something  suggesting  his  color,  perhaps. 
.  .  .  He's  the  most  wonderful  color  I've  ever 
seen.  .  .  .  Like  blue  steel  ...  or  no,  that's 
too  commonplace.  That  sort  of  a  wonderful 
gray-blue  one  sees  over  the  moon  sometimes 
when  it's  rising  after  a  hot  day.  .  .  .  It's  .  .  ." 

"  Sidney !  .  . .  Oh,  Sidney ! .  .  .  You're  a  brick 
...  a  gold  brick.  You've  got  it.  He's  going 
to  make  the  most  wonderful  fencer,  too,  that 
ever  was.  .  .  .  Over-the-Moon  .  .  .  Over-the- 
Moon.  .  .  .  Thd't's  your  name,  my  eighth 
wonder  of  the  world.     How  do  you  like  it .?" 

And  she  went  up  and  flung  an  arm  over 
the  roan's  great  crest,  and  tickled  the  little 
velvet-lined  pocket  in  his  upper  nostril,  while 
he  nuzzled  her  affectionately  and  made  a  pur- 
ring sound  that  asked  for  sugar.  She  gave 
him  two  lumps,  which  he  proceeded  to  crack 
on  her  open  palm,  and  then  eat  daintily  bit 
by  bit. 

"And   see  how  gentle  he  is,   Sidney  .   .   . 

kinder  than  a  bushel  of  kittens.  .  .  .  What  do 

you    say    now,    Joe  ^.     You    old    prophet    of 

trouble  .  .  .  with  your  dismal  tales  about  the 

s  55 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"Rion  colts.'  .  .  .  Look  at  that  eye.  .  .  .  Does  it 
show  any  white  .?  .  .  .  Come,  speak  up." 

"Nor  'm — he  don'  show  no  white  to  he 
eye,"  assented  Joe,  very  reserved  in  his  man- 
ner and  concentrating  his  attention  on  the 
balance-strap.  "Only  sometimes  he  jes  look 
at  you  kynder  dark  an'  fixed,  like  he  thinkin' 
what  he  kin  do  tuh  you  when  he  git  good  an' 
ready." 

"Oh,  you  make  me  infinitely  weary,  Joseph 
Scott!"  said  his  mistress,  with  vexation. 
"Here,  I'll  hold  Horace  and  Over-the-Moon. 
.  .  .  What  a  name  for  you,  you  darling!  .  .  . 
Thank  and  thank  you,  Sidney.  .  .  .  Go  on, 
Joe.  .  .  .  I've  got  'em.  .  .  .  Go  on  and  bring  out 
Ben  Bolt  for  Marse  Sidney." 

Then,  while  Joe  was  alternately  coaxing 
and  cursing  that  weird  steed  from  his  box, 
she  proceeded,  in  a  rush  of  self-reproachful 
affection,  to  make  much  of  her  favorite 
hunter,  who  really  held  the  chief  place  in  her 
heart  over  all  new-comers,  no  matter  how 
wonderful. 

Horace  was  a  huge,  upstanding  half-bred 
black,  over  seventeen  hands,  with  a  shoulder 
like  a  slanting  hill,  and  legs  and  feet  as  sound 
56 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MOON 

as  we  like  to  think  our  currency.  He  had  a 
plain,  sensible  head,  with  just  a  quirk  of  the 
Roman  in  his  nose,  and  the  most  knowing 
eyes  that  ever  looked  through  a  bridle. 
"Children  all,"  he  seemed  to  be  saying, 
"trust  to  me.  I  am  Socrates  and  Solon, 
with  just  a  pinch  of  Aristophanes  thrown  in 
to  make  me  a  thorough  sport." 

Trix  adored  him  for  many  reasons,  having 
bred  and  schooled  him  herself,  but  chiefly 
because  once,  when  she  had  got  hung  head 
down  in  the  days  before  her  apron  safety- 
habits,  and  the  hounds  were  running,  he  had 
stopped  when  she  whistled  to  him  and  im- 
plored him  by  name,  and  stood  there,  nosing 
her  and  trembling  in  every  fibre,  but  stock- 
still,  while  the  whole  field  swept  past,  with  the 
exception  of  two  kind  Samaritans,  who  had 
come  to  her  rescue  and  set  her  head-up  again 
in  a  giddy  world. 

"Why  don't  you  let  me  get  you  a  big  sound 
heavy-weight,  like  Horry  here.^*"  she  said  to 
Sidney,  eying  his  nag  discontentedly,  as  he 
was  lugged  forward  by  Joe,  yawing  away  from 
the  bridle,  and  rolHng  a  sulky  eye  back  tow- 
ard his  comfortable  box.  "It  makes  me 
57 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MO  ON 

downright  ashamed  to  see  you  scuffling  up  on 
him  from  the  off  side.  .  .  .  And  what  a  mouth 
he's  got  .  .  .  Lord!  .  .  .  And  what  a  trot!  .  .  . 
It's  a  marvel  to  me  how  you  two  keep  to- 
gether. .  .  ." 

"We  understand  each  other,  old  lummux, 
don't  we?"  said  Sidney,  with  fatuous  affec- 
tion, patting  the  grim  Campagna  nose  as  he 
went  around  to  the  wrong  side  to  "  scuffle  up," 
as  Trix  unkindly  put  it.  The  cranky  beast 
turned  and  blew  at  him  as  he  got  up,  and  then 
took  a  nip  at  his  foot  as  he  put  it  in  the  stirrup. 
"Just  chuck  him  under  the  chin,  Joe,"  said 
Sidney,  nervously;  "he  bruised  my  ankle  like 
the  dickens  last  time.  Woa  .  .  .  there!  You 
old  home  of  the  vices." 

Ben  Bolt  battened  down  his  ears,  set  up  his 
back,  and  had  a  side  kick  at  Joe  as  he  went 
back  to  help  Trix  up  on  Over-the-Moon. 

"You  go  on  ahead,  Sidney,"  she  called, 
while  Joe  tossed  her  into  the  saddle,  and 
Ashton  argued  with  the  roan,  who  was  in- 
clined to  rear  a  bit  when  he  was  mounted. 
"I  won't  have  that  old  ferry-boat  barging  into 
my  horse.  .  .  .  You  go  on  until  mine  gets  quiet- 
ed down,  and  then  mind  you  keep  the  whole 
58 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MQON 

road  between  us.  You  ride  behind  me,  Joe, 
Ashton,  you  and  Dick  bring  over  the  ponies 
and  the  two  others.  Now  ...  go  o«,  I  tell  you, 
Sidney!" 

The  roan,  after  two  or  three  plunges,  settled 
down  to  a  sort  of  "hifalutin"  walk,  in  which 
he  bent  low  his  head,  and  eyed  the  road  be- 
neath him  as  if  inquiring  again  whether  it 
really  could  be  dirt  that  they  were  asking  him 
to  step  on,  and  at  last  Trix  ranged  up  along- 
side her  husband,  and  they  proceeded  on  their 
way,  Sidney  keeping  gingerly  to  the  fence  and 
glancing  at  the  roan  from  time  to  time  with  a 
certain  air  of  distress. 

"Well,"  said  Trix,  after  a  while  of  this, 
"what  are  you  looking  for.?  .  .  .  Blem- 
ishes .?" 

"Don't  be  huffy,  Trix.  You  know  he's  an 
out-and-out  beauty,  and,  after  all,  I'm  not 
quite  a  fool,  though  I  wasn't  born  with  equine 
gumption.  .  .  .  But,  Trix  .  .  .  now  don't  go  off 
at  a  tangent  ...  do  you  know  I  think  there's 
something  in  what  Joe  said.  .  .  .  There's  a 
very  secretive  and  menacing  look  in  that 
horse's  eye  at  times.  .  .  .  You  can  giggle  all 
you  want  to  .  .  .  but  there  is.  .  .  ." 
59 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"My  poor  Over-the-Moon,"  said  Trix, 
with  lofty  superiority,  cosseting  the  horse's 
flexed  neck,  "did  he  know  he  was  'secretive' 
and  *  menacing, '  poor  darhng!" 

The  roan  quivered  and  tossed  his  head, 
and  that  sort  of  lambent  flicker,  as  of  a  re- 
strained malice,  trembled  through  his  full  eye. 

"You're  on  his  back.  .  .  .  You  can't  see  his 
eyes  as  I  can.  .  .  .1  tell  you  what,  Trix,  please 
don't  go  trusting  that  moke  too  far.  .  .  .  Please 
now.  .  . .  I'm  serious. ...  I  know  the  reputation 
of  Orion's  colts  as  well  as  you  do  .  .  .  and  that's 
one  of 'em.  .  .  .  Take  a  poor  husband's  humble 
advice  and  .  .  .  don't  forget  it.  Look  out!" 
he  ended,  nervously,  for  Over-the-Moon, 
using  his  planted  hind  feet  as  a  pivot,  had 
reared  and  wheeled,  caroming  on  Ben  Bolt, 
who  clacked  loud  teeth  at  him  in  a  luckily 
unavailing  bite. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him  now.?  .  .  , 
What's  he  doing  that  for  V  asked  Sidney,  with 
irritated  nervousness.  "Any  one  but  you 
would  have  been  in  the  road.  .  .  .  That's  a 
sweet  sample  of  his  company  manners.  .  .  ." 

"Sidney, you're  a  goose,"  said  Trix, politely. 
"Can't  you  see  it's  that  spot  there  in  the  road 
60 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

where  they've  been  burning  brush  ?  Your 
own  horse  don't  seem  to  Hke  it  much,  either," 
she  ended,  giggling,  as,  catching  sight  of  the 
white  circle  of  ashes  for  the  first  time,  Ben 
Bolt  gave  a  loud  snort  of  outraged  confidence, 
and,  starting  backward,  drew  Sidney's  leg 
along  the  snake  fence  as  a  boy  draws  a  stick 
along  a  paling. 

"What  idiots  horses  are,  anyway!"  said  he, 
fretfully.  "There  isn't  enough  fire  among 
those  ashes  to  light  a  cigarette  with,  and  just 
look  how  they're  going  on.  This  fool  beast 
has  dragged  half  the  buckles  off  my  puttees 
.  .  .  Trix!  .  .  .  For  the  Lord's  sake  be  care- 
ful!"— this,  as  the  roan  seemed  about  to 
climb  a  big  catalpa-tree  near  by,  and  then 
flung  around,  rearing  again. 

"Don't  bother  me,"  said  Trix,  through  set 
teeth.  "I've  got  to  get  him  by  this  or  he'll 
be  ruined.  Just  keep  out  of  the  way.  .  .  . 
Ride  back  a  bit.  .  .  .  Ride  back."  Ag-ain  she 
tried  to  get  the  roan  past  that,  to  him,  terrific 
pale  danger  with  its  red  underglow,  and  again 
he  reared  and  wheeled.  After  that  she  kept 
him  moving  in  such  quick  circles  that  he 
could  not  get  his  feet  from  the  ground. 
6i 


TRIX    AND    OVKR-T  HE-MOON 

"You  mustn't  forget  he's  a  colt,  Sidney," 
she  said,  between  breaths. 

"He  ought  to  have  a  good  strong  whip 
to  him,"  returned  Sidney,  sitting  still  and 
pale  in  a  corner  of  the  snake  fence;  and  to  his 
surprise,  for  Trix  never  carried  a  whip,  and 
had  been  admonishing  Over-the-Moon  with 
her  open  palm,  she  replied,  quite  meekly  for 
her: 

"Yes,  I  dare  say  a  moderate  thrashing 
is  what  he  needs.  .  .  .  Wait,  I've  got  an 
idea.  .  .  . 

She  pulled  the  roan  sharply  about,  and  sent 
him  back  down  the  road  with  a  sharp  smack 
on  his  sweating  flank.  The  road  forked  here, 
and  the  next  thing  that  Sidney  saw  of  her, 
she  was  coming  at  a  hard  gallop  along  the 
other  branch,  assisting  her  horse  with  a  stout 
hazel-wand,  to  which  some  of  the  leaves  yet 
clung.  Amazed,  indignant,  and  unable  to 
stop  himself,  Over-the-Moon  was  borne  past 
the  dread  object  in  the  road  by  his  own  im- 
petus. 

"There  .  .  .  that's  settled,"  she  said,  with 
satisfaction,  as  she  calmed  him  down,  and 
Sidney  caught  up  with  her  again.  "I  don't 
62 


TRIX     AND    OVKR-THE-MOON 

like  his  rearing,  but,  after  all,  he's  a  colt,  as  I 
said.  .  .  ," 

"A  three-year-old  isn't  exactly  a  colt, 
Trix,"  objected  her  husband,  who  had  had  an 
extremely  bad  quarter  of  an  hour.  "  It  made 
me  downright  sick  to  see  you  whizzed  about 
in  the  air  on  that  great  brute's  back.  .  .  ." 

*'Oh,  he'll  be  all  right! .  .  .  You'll  see,"  said 
she,  confidently.  "Bless  me,  Sidney,  he's  as 
green  as  grass,  if  he  is  three  years  old.  .  .  . 
What  can  you  expect  of  a  family  pet,  who's 
only  been  jogged  to  the  *  country  store'  by  an 
old  man,  or  ridden  bareback  to  water  by  chil- 
dren, and  never  had  a  feed  of  oats  or  a  good 
grooming  until  two  weeks  ago  .?  .  .  .  You  wait 
till  the  autumn.  We'll  show  you  what's  what 
then." 

"What  is  it  you  are  going  to  do  with  him 
this  afternoon  .?"  he  asked,  unconvinced,  and 
still  strongly  distrustful  of  Over-the-Moon. 

"Just  going  to  take  him  round  the  ring  a 
bit,  and  jump  him  two  or  three  times.  .  .  .Joe's 
jumped  him,  but  I  haven't  yet.  .  .  .  My  glory, 
Sidney!  .  .  .  Wait  till  you  see  him.  It's  over 
the  moon  indeed  with  him  when  he  sails  into 
the  air.  .  .  ." 

6.S 


% 


TRIX     AND    OVER-T  HE-MO  ON 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't.  .  .  .  Have  you  got 
to?"  he  said,  unhappily. 

Trix  scoffed  at  him. 

"D'  you  think  I  bought  him  for  a  hack  for 
Joe  .?  .  .  .  'Course  I've  got  to." 

'*  But  if  you  could  only  ride  alongside  him 
and  watch  his  eye.  ...  It  looks  as  if  he  were 
making  all  sorts  of  dark  compacts  with  Fate 
...  if  she'll  just  give  him  a  chance.  ...  I  don't 
mean  it's  the  ordinary,  mean,  crazy,  rolling 
eye  of  a  vicious  horse  .  .  .  but  there's  some- 
thing ominous  and  reserved  in  it  .  .  .  that  sort 
of  *wait  till  I  get  good  and  ready'  that  Joe 
mentioned." 

"You  and  Joe  are  both  sillies,"  said  Trix; 
"perfect  old  mammies,  both  of  you.  He's 
got  a  beautiful,  great,  clear  eye,  Hke  a  stag. 
Don't  talk  any  more  nonsense,  but  just  open 
that  gate  for  me.     He's  a  little  jumpy  still." 

With  prayers  and  threats,  Sidney  managed 
to  prevail  upon  Ben  Bolt  to  allow  him  to  open 
the  gate  and  hold  it  while  the  roan  dived 
through  as  though  about  to  launch  himself 
into  space. 


VI 


IN  the  narrow  lane  which  they  had  now 
entered,  between  the  bull's  lot  and  the 
sheep-sheds,  a  new  adventure  awaited  them. 
Toward  them,  at  a  full  run,  came  a  thorough- 
bred brood-mare,  with  spring  in  her  veins 
and  eye,  and  Trix  just  managed,  w4th  a 
wild  view-hallo  and  a  flourish  of  her  hazel- 
bough,  to  turn  her  aside  and  set  her  tearing 
back  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"I  don't  like  this,"  observed  Sidney,  suc- 
cinctly.    "Not  at  all." 

"It  wasn't  exactly  pleasant,"  replied  Trix, 
and  here  Over-the-Moon  joined  in  the  con- 
versation by  rearing  high  his  head,  and  giv- 
ing a  long,  piercing  squeal  like  a  stallion. 

"Great    Scott!"    cried    Sidney.     "What's 

the    matter    with    that    beast  ?"     And    even 

Trix  looked  bothered.     She  thought  to  instil 

some  manners  into  the  roan  by  a  slash  or 

65 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MQON 

two  with  the  hazel,  and  a  scolding,  "What  're 
you  doing  there  r"  but  his  only  response  was 
to  strike  out  vehemently  with  one  fore-foot, 
and  emit  another  squeal  more  piercing  than 
the  other. 

"It's  nothing  .  .  .  just  that  silly  mare," 
said  Trix,  shaking  him  together,  and  giving 
him  another  taste  of  hazel;  and,  in  truth, 
he  went  quietly  enough  the  rest  of  the  way, 
and  settled  into  a  long,  easy  canter  over 
the  grassy  rise  that  led  past  Parley's  house 
to  the  schooling- ground.  Sidney,  how- 
ever, still  eyed  him  askance,  and  wished 
heartily  that  she  was  on  Horace,  and  they 
were  both  taking  a  nice,  domestic  ride  along 
the  beaten  road. 

This  schooling-ground  of  Trix's  was  a  most 
charming  spot.  The  level  and  grassy  top  of  a 
high  hill  had  been  enclosed,  with  posts  and 
rails,  in  a  big  circle,  and  fenced-in  jumps  set 
along  either  side,  leaving  an  exit  to  north 
and  south.  Below  them  spread  the  rich  pas- 
tures and  corn-lands,  running  through  every 
shade  of  tawny  red,  and  sheening  here  and 
there,  as  the  light  wind  swept  over  them,  with 
a  lustre  as  of  shot  silk,  under  their  gauze  of 
66 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

young  spring  green.  On  three  sides  soared 
the  crescent  of  mountains,  diaphanous  and 
dream-like  behind  the  gold-dust  of  an  April 
haze,  and  far  away  to  the  southward  the  sea 
of  woods  stretched  faint  and  languid  and 
mysterious  to  the  sea  of  waters. 

Trix  sat  gazing  on  it,  all  the  dumb  passion 
of  the  real  country-lover  in  her  eyes,  .  .  .  even 
the  roan  forgotten  for  a  moment. 

"Think  what  that  will  look  like  in  a  few 
days  .  .  .  just  think,"  she  said,  and  pointed 
with  the  hazel-bough  to  the  orchards  climb- 
ing to  right  and  left  of  them,  along  the  hills 
where  Oldwood  stood. 

"Don't  you  love  it,  Sidney  ^  .  .  .  Don't  you 
love  it  .f'  .  .  ,  No.  .  .  .  You  can't  love  it  as  I  do." 

And  she  gave  an  embarrassed  little  laugh 
over  what  she  felt  had  been  a  sentimentalism, 
and  came  to  herself,  or  rather  was  brought  to 
herself  by  Over-the-Moon,  who  showed  symp- 
toms of  impatience. 

The  other  grooms  had  come  up  by  now,  and 
Trix  sent  two  of  the  quieter  horses  around  the 
ring,  with  Dick  and  Ashton  on  their  backs, 
while  she  prepared  to  follow  with  the  roan. 
He  went,  as  he  had  come  the  last  part  of  the 
67 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

way,  quietly  enough  at  first,  and  took  the  first 
two  jumps  in  beautiful  form  ...  so  much  so 
that  even  the  reserved  Joe  exclaimed,  "  Gre't 
day!  .  .  .  dat  is  suppin'!" 

And  Sidney,  the  uninitiated,  cried  out: 
"Well  done!  .  .  .  He  is  a  winner!  ..." 

Then  began  the  trouble.  All  at  once,  with- 
out any  warning,  when  he  seemed  to  be  going 
like  a  beautiful  bit  of  clockwork  made  by 
some  idle  deity  for  his  high  diversion,  the 
roan  swerved,  and  rushing  to  the  side  of  the 
course,  laid  his  chin  on  the  rail  and  refused  to 
budge. 

They  saw  Trix  using  every  known  art  of 
cajolery  and  wise  coercion,  and  still,  with  his 
obstinate  and  beautiful  head  glued  to  the  rail, 
Over-the-Moon  stuck  it  out  and  never  a  budge 
would  he  budge. 

"What  the  devil's  the  matter  with  him.?" 
asked  Sidney,  anxiously,  of  |oe.  He  had 
that  nervous  apprehension  of  the  sedentary, 
and  saw,  in  fancy,  Trix  shooting  skyward  in 
a  sort  of  explosion  of  blue  roan  should  the 
beast  ever  decide  to  move  again. 

"  De  matter  is,  he  need  a  fus'-rate  lammin'," 
said  Joe,  darkly.     "I'd  jes  like  tuh  git  m\ 
68 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

han'  on  him.  .  .  .  Miss  Trix  's  too  sweet  wid 
him.  He  don'  need  no  'lasses  in  his'n  ...  he 
needs  pepper,  an'  he  needs  it  bad.  .  .  ." 

"Do  you  think  he's  vicious,  Joe  .f"' 

"I  dun'no'  'bout  vicious  ...  he  cuyous  .  .  . 
moughty  cuyous.  .  .  .  Dyar  now!  Miss  Trix 
done  pull  him  out  .  .  .  but  he  need  heap 
mo'n  dat.  .  .  .  Dat  sut'n'y  is  one  fix-minded 
hawse.  ..." 

Trix  was  taking  him  around  the  ring  once 
more  now,  and  he  went  tolerably  well  at  first, 
then  tried  to  swing  back  to  his  chosen  rail, 
and  as  she  forced  him  on,  reared.  She  rode 
toward  them  finally,  with  the  horse's  head 
drawn  toward  her  stirrup-foot,  to  keep  him 
on  the  ground,  and  condescended  to  consult 
with  Joe  a  little. 

"You  oughtn't  tub  let  him  git  dar,  tub 
begin  wid.  Miss  Trix,"  was  his  verdict. 
"Dat  hawse  want  tub  know  fum  de  fust  who's 
boss " 

"Yes  .  .  .  that's  all  very  well,"  said  Trix, 
"but  did  you  see  his  eye  ^  .  .  .  It's  all  pale  blue 
and  clouded.  .  .  .  He  seemed  to  be  possessed. 
.  .  .  Look  out!"  she  ended,  sharply,  and  Joe 
sprang  back  just  in  time  to  escape  the  roan's 
69 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

fore-foot,  with  which  he  struck  out  violently, 
again  giving  that  wild,  stallion  scream. 

"Miss  Trix  .  .  .  You  lis'n  tuh  me,"  said 
Joe,  seriously,  looking  down  at  his  coat,  from 
which  the  iron  shoe  had  nicked  away  a  bit  of 
cloth.  "What  dat  hawse  need  right  now  is  a 
man  on  him.  .  .  .  You  know  what  I  means. 
Miss  Trix  .  .  .  'tain't  nothin'  'bout  you.  .  .  . 
You  kin  outride  us  all  any  day  .  .  .  but  he 
needs  somebody  on  him  what  kin  slip  off'n 
him  when  he  r'ars,  an'  what  can  everlarstin'ly 
chunk  him  over  de  hade  ef  he  begins  his  fool- 
ishness 'bout  dat  fence." 

"I  b'lieve  you're  right,  Joe,"  said  Trix, 
whose  entire  reasonableness  made  her  the 
horsewoman  that  she  was.  "  I  b'lieve  it's  just 
a  man  that  he  needs  on  him  this  afternoon. 
Here,  change  saddles  .  .  .  put  mine  on  Horace 
.  .  .  and  then,  after  we've  watched  you  awhile, 
Marse  Sidney  and  I  '11  have  a  quiet  jog  to- 
gether." 

This  exchange  being  effected,  they  rode 
outside  the  ring,  and  then  drew  rein,  to  see 
Joe  come  to  clips  with  Over-the-Moon. 

Over  the  moon  it  was  for  a  while,  and  hey- 
diddle-diddle,    with    the    cat    and    the    fiddle 
70 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

thrown  in.  Round  they  swept,  the  Hthe 
figure  of  the  mulatto  sitting  the  splendid 
beast  as  a  bubble  rides  a  wave  .  .  .  then  they 
came  to  the  destined  rail  for  which  the  roan 
seemed  so  to  hanker — and  they  heard  Joe's 
open  hand  smack  on  the  great  jaw,  and 
smack  and  smack  again.  Over-the-Moon 
gave  it  up  as  a  bad  job,  but  plunged  and 
reared  so  that  twice  Joe  slipped  from  his  back, 
and  then  remounting  in  a  twinkling,  haled 
him  round  again.  Thus  it  went  for  some 
twenty  minutes,  until  at  last  the  ring  was 
twice  covered  without  a  fault,  and  the  man 
dismounted  for  good,  and  stood  soothing  the 
fiery  force  that  man  was  born  to  dominate. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Trix,  and  her  sigh 
of  relief  was  deep  and  grateful.  "Good  boy, 
Joe!  .  .  .  Thank  you.  .  .  .  He'll  be  much  easier 
to-morrow.  .  .  .  I'll  handle  him  in  the  morn- 
ing instead  of  waiting." 

'"Handle  him!'"  cried  Sidney.  "My 
God,  Trix!  You're  never  thinking  of  going 
on  with  that  brute  after  this!  .  .  ." 

Trix  looked  at  him,  and,  as  often  when  con- 
fronted by  Sidney's  ideas,  her  small  mouth 
fell    apart    in    a    little    ring   of  stupefaction. 

6  71 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

Then  she  shut  it  with  a  snap  and  turned  to 
Horace. 

"The  matter  with  you  is,  Sidney,"  she  re- 
marked, concisely,  as  they  rode  off  toward  the 
"flat-woods,"  "that  you  see  too  much  of 
books  and  too  Httle  of  your  wife.  .  .  .  *Go  on 
with  him!'  Why,  I'd  go  over  the  moon  with 
him,  sure  enough,  before  I'd  give  him  up. 
Come  on  .  .  .  let's  canter.  We'll  be  late  for 
dinner." 

Over-the-Moon's  sire,  Orion,  was  a  de- 
scendant of  Herod,  and  had  been  imported 
to  Virginia  by  a  very  sporting  old  squire  of 
the  other  valley,  so  that  the  roan  had  blood 
of  both  the  Byerley  Turk  and  the  Darley 
Arabian  in  his  sheening  veins,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  Flying  Dutchman.  That  he  was  a 
"'Rion  colt"  was  unmistakable,  for  that  sire 
stamped  his  get  with  his  very  image  and 
superscription.  Trix  believed  him  to  be 
thoroughbred  himself,  but  it  was  some  time 
before  she  could  coax  Mr.  Ruddle  into  an 
approximately  accurate  account  of  his  dam. 
Had  he,  Mr.  Ruddle,  bred  him  ?  No.  Did 
he  know  where  he  had  been  bred.?  "Not 
72 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

'zactly  .  .  .  that  is,  he  knew  whar,  but  not 
heaoif." 

It  turned  out,  finally,  that  he  had  accepted 
the  roan,  when  a  foal,  in  part  payment  of  a 
sum  owed  him  by  a  poor  farmer-lad  in  the 
valley.  This  lad's  all  was  a  little  holding 
on  the  mountain-side,  a  plough-horse,  and 
one  old  mare — "a  moughty,  ramshackle, 
ole  black  myar,  with  one  eye  switched  out 
by  a  briar,"  was  Mr.  Ruddle's  description, 
"  but  good  p'ints  .  .  .  darned  good  p'ints  ...  I 
reckon  she  was  the  roan's  ma  .  .  .  but  they 
ain't  no  knowin'." 

"Didn't  you  ask?"  said  Trix. 

"Ov  cose  .  .  .  an'  he  sez  ez  how  she  wuz 
.  .  .  but  they  ain't  no  knowin',"  he  repeated. 

"I'm  going  over  and  see  him  if  he's  there 
now,"  announced  Trix.  "Do  you  know 
whether  he's  still  there  ?" 

"I  ain't  heard  of  him  sence  then,"  said 
Mr.  Ruddle.  .  .  .  "Owed  me  six  dollars  mo', 
too  .  .  .  but  t' would  '  a'  cost  mo'n  that  to  go 
trapeezin'  arter  him." 

She  did  go  eventually,  but  boy,  plough- 
horse,  and  black  mare  had  all  disappeared, 
and  no  one  knew  where  to,  or  anything  else 
73 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

about  them.  "It's  a  blow,  old  man,"  Trix 
confided  to  Over-the-Moon  on  her  return; 
"but  never  mind.  It's  written  all  over  you. 
.  .  .  Every  inch  of  you  talks  louder  than  all 
the  papers  in  creation.  Still  ...  I'd  love  to 
have  you  registered.  Well,  nothing's  per- 
fect in  this  world  .  .  .  except  you." 

And  the  roan  tossed  high  his  head,  and 
gave  his  whispering  nicker,  as  though  say- 
ing: "Well,  rather.  ...  It  seems  to  me  need- 
less even  to  mention  it." 

More  and  more  she  wondered  how  the 
horse  had  escaped  being  sold  long  before 
she  bought  him.  Mr.  Ruddle's  explanation 
was  simple  in  the  extreme. 

"I  wa'n't  jest  hoani'n  to  sell  him  nohow," 
said  he,  "an'  thar  couldn't  nobordy  back 
him  'cep'n  me  an'  the  child'un  t'well  you 
got  a-holt  uv  him.  I  wuz  thinkin'  all  along 
ez  how  he  wuz  jes'  the  hawse  fuh  you  an' 
them  hawse-shows,  Mrs.  Bruce,  marm,  an' 
that's  the  sober  truth." 

"Well,  I'm  mighty  glad  it  happened  like 
that,"  Trix  had  said,  laughing.  "Let  me 
know  the  minute  you  have  another." 

"Well,  marm,  talkin'  'bout  snails  .  .  .  thar's 
74 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

that  sorrel  filly  you  keeps  pitchin'  inter  ...  I 
tell  you  that's  a  prime  myar." 

"Mr.  Ruddle,"  Trix  replied,  firmly,  "that 
mare  has  a  doubtful  leg,  and  you  know  it. 
It's  all  very  well  to  say  it's  'only  passin'.' 
She  might  be  like  Miss  Kilmansegg,  and 
have  a  golden  leg  out  of  kelter,  but  a  horse 
with  a  leg  is  no  horse  to  me.  It's  just  a  leg- 
owner,  and  /  won't  be.  .  .  .  So  that  settles  it." 

And  so  ended  Mr.  Ruddle's  connection 
with  Over-the-Moon  and  his  hopes  for  the 
sorrel  filly. 


VII 

IT  was  a  lovely  April  morning  about  eight 
o'clock,  and  Mammy  Henny  was  taking 
advantage  of  it  to  iron  and  flute  some  of 
Trix's  mannish  little  blouses.  The  door  of  the 
laundry  stood  wide,  and  the  pleasant  smell 
of  the  warm  ironing-board  floated  out  and 
mingled  with  the  scent  of  the  fresh  earth  and 
opening  buds.  In  the  doorway  sat  Alison 
knitting  a  golf  stocking  for  her  nursling. 
There  had  been  a  tacit  truce  between  the  two 
women  for  a  week  past,  but  in  Alison's  face 
there  was  a  certain  dour  look  this  morning 
which  promised  trying  moments  for  Mammy 
Henny  should  they  diff^er  in  opinion. 

Outside,  the  bees  were  "brumbling"  about 
the  young  lilacs  near  the  door,  and  occasional- 
ly one  would  light  on  Alison's  forbidding  hand, 
but  she  never  even  paused  to  shake  it  ofi^. 
She  was  one  of  those  whom  bees  do  not  sting, 
76 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MOON 

and  rather  proud  of  it  in  a  dark  and  hidden 
way.  Inside,  the  water  tottled  in  the  great 
copper  boiler,  and  against  its  glowing,  dented 
surface  the  bloomy  black  of  the  old  negress' 
head  detached  itself  like  some  dark  fruit  in  a 
still-Hfe  painting. 

Mammy  was  singing  while  she  worked, 
and  the  language  of  her  hymn  stirred  Alison's 
deep  disapproval: 

"  Why  don'  you  do  like   Peter  done, 
When  he  walk   upon  de  sea  ? 
He  turn  his  face  tuh   Jesus   an'  sayed, 

'Oh,  Lawd,   'member  me! 
'Member  de   rich,   'member  de   po', 
'Member  de  bond  an'  de  free, 
An'  when  you   done   'memb'rin'  all   roun'. 
Good   Lawd,  'member  po'  me!'" 

"Thon's  an  unco'  irreeverent  sang  to  begin 
the  day  wi',''  she  remarked,  during  a  pause. 
"Never  siccan  a  word  said  Peter.  An'  ye 
suld  ken  if  ye  dinna  what's  writ  in  the  Buik." 

Mammy  Henny  was  staring  at  her  with  the 
usual  puzzlement  caused  by  her  language,  for 
Alison  broadened  her  Scotch,  but  not  her 
mind,    whenever    she    spoke    with    the    poor 

n 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

woman,  deriving  from  her  bewilderment 
Heaven  knows  what  grim  and  cross-grained 
satisfaction.  She  now  quoted,  in  a  stern 
voice,  words  from  ''Revelation": 

'"And  if  ony  mon  shall  take  away  from  the 
words  of  the  buik  of  this  propheecy,  God 
shall  take  away  his  pairt  out  of  the  buik  of 
life.'" 

"I  'clar'  I  dun'no'  what  you  after.  Mis' 
Stark,"  said  Mammy  Henny.  "I  ain'  done 
tuk  away  no  wuds,  nor  put  'em  in,  nuther." 

"There's  naebody  sae  blind  as  them  what 
wunna  see,"  said  Alison,  tersely;  "but  a'  thae 
things  ye  black  folk  sing  gar  me  scunner." 

"Ain'  onderstood  one  wud,"  said  Mammy, 
curtly,  and  went  back  to  her  fluting-irons. 

It  was  in  this  interval  that  Tim  appeared, 
hugging  a  fat  parcel  to  his  chest,  and  followed 
by  Nibs,  who  did  not  approve  of  him,  and 
was  mortally  jealous  besides,  but  who  knew 
that  as  Trix's  property  he  was  to  be  looked 
after. 

"Oh,  Mammy!"  cried  he,  "I  got  some- 
thin'  jes  splucious  for  yo'  washin'.  .  .  .  Jes  look 
a-here.  .  .  .  It's  the  fines'  in  the  market  an'  jes 
as  cheap!  .  .  ." 

78 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MOON 

He  whisked  by  Alison,  whom  he  did  not 
greatly  love,  and  extended  a  small  packet  to 
Mammy  Henny. 

"What  is  it  ?  ...  I  ain't  got  my  specs, 
honey." 

"  It's  '  Blurine,'  Mammy,  an'  heaps  better 
than  old  bluin'  for  washing  clothes  with — an' 
you  can  make  ink  outer  it  too  .  .  .  an'  dye  .  .  . 
an'  if  I  sell  fifty  packages  .  .  .  oh.  Mammy! 
.  .  .  I'll  get  a  'lectric  machine.  .  .  .  It's  only  ten 
cents  for  one  emberlote." 

"Gre't  day  in  de  mawnin'!  .  .  .  Who  done 
tole  you  all  dat  ?" 

"  I  saw  it  in  a  paper  .  .  .  and  I  writted  to 
the  people,  an'  it  was  true  .  .  .  an'  this  is  the 
'Blurine.'  .  .  .  Don't  you  want  some,  Mammy 
dear  .^  ...  It  would  make  your  washin'  heaps 
easier.  I  do  hate  to  have  you  work  too  hard. 
Mammy  ..." 

"Ye're  the  bairn  for  whillywhas,  what- 
ever," remarked  Alison.  "Am  I  no'  to  ha'e 
ony  r 

Though  she  did  not  show  it,  she  was  fond  of 
the  child  in  her  hidden  way,  and  his  bringing 
up  by  Mammy  Henny  had  been  a  sore  trial 
to  her. 

79 


TRIX    AND    0VER-THP:-M00X 

"Ye  sudna'  be  aye  coddlin'  and  cossetin ' 
him,"  she  had  said  to  her  one  day.  "There's 
mony  a  braw  rapscaUion  made  i'  that  fashion. 
What  he  lacks  is  to  be  weel  whaukit  on  his 
hinder-end  frae  time  to  time." 

"I  s'pose  you  means  whacked  on  his  po' 
leetle  settin'-dovvn,"  Mammy  Henny  had  re- 
pHed.  "Well,  I  ain't  never  lowered  my  han' 
to  give  him  a  lick  sence  he  was  bawn,  an'  I 
ain't  gwine  tub  now." 

"He  maun  dree  his  ain  weird  like  a-body 
else,"  Alison  had  said,  dourly.  "  But  he'd  be 
no  the  waur  for  a  bit  cleishin'  twa-three  times 
a  week." 

"Go  on  talkin'  yo'  cuyous  talk — dat  don't 
hurt  nobordy,"  Mammy  Henny  had  re- 
sponded. "But  hoi'  yo'  ban'  ...  or  we'll 
come  turrer  scuffle.  An'  I  got  a  moughty 
good  mustle  fum  choppin'  kindlin'  an' 
heistin'  water." 

"Oh,"  Tim  cried  now,  in  a  gush  of  grati- 
tude, "will  you  buy  some,  too.  Nurse  Ailie  .'' 
.  .  .  Oh,  I  'clare  that  cert'n'y  is  sweet  of  you!" 

And  he  whipped  an  arm  about  her  grim 
scrag  and  kissed  her  violently  on  the  ear  be- 
fore she  could  ward  him  off. 
80 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"Hoots!  awa'  wi'  ye!"  she  said,  extending 
her  bunch  of  bright  needles.  "Ye've  deaved 
me  for  a'  day  ...  ye  daft  wean." 

"But  you  will  buy  one  .  .  .  mebbe  two  or 
three  ^  .  .  .  dear  Aihe } " 

"  Ye've  the  tongue  to  souk  the  laverocks  out 
of  the  lift,  ha'e  ye  no',  Maister  Whillywha  .? 
.  .  .  I'll  buy  ae  packet  o'  trash,  nae  mair,  nae 
less.  Thaur's  your  siller  ...  a  wheen  bawbies 
for  ae  bit  packet  o'  trash." 

And  she  took  ten  cents  from  the  netted 
purse  that  always  hung  at  her  belt  and  gave  it 
to  him.  He  would  have  embraced  her  again, 
but  she  presented  needles  at  him,  so  to  speak. 

"Awa'  wi'  you  an'  your  figgle-fagglin'. 
Ye  hae  your  siller,  noo  gae  ben  the  hoose  an' 
put  it  by  like  a  canny  lad,  or  ye'll  get  nae  mair 
frae  me  .  .  .  nae  matter  how  I'll  be  needin'  it." 

"You  sut'n'y  is  hard  on  dat  po'  lamb.  Mis' 
Stark,"  said  Mammy,  coming  to  the  door- 
way to  watch  her  darling's  progress  to  the 
house  with  his  first  earnings.  "How  you  ktn 
be,  beats  me." 

"If  ye'd  beaten  him  when  he  desairved  it, 
'twad  be  mair  to  the  point.  No  discipleening 
whatever  has  he  had,  puir  bairn.  Aye  rin- 
8i 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

nin'  aboot  hither  an'  yon  like  a  fey  thing,  an' 
warplin'  an'  warstlin'  wi'  a'  the  bit  blacks  on 
the  place.  'Tis  no  bringin'  up  for  a  gentle- 
man's son  ,  .  .  mair's  the  peety.  But  Gude 
kens,  we  suld  be  thankfu'  he  wasna  born  wi' 
a  mane  doon  his  backbane,  an'  a  dockit  tail 
to  his  puir  bit  hurdies.  'Tis  nae  wonder 
forbye  that  sae  mony  horse  -  gowans  blaw 
i'  th'  fields  hereaboots.  Horses  first  and 
Chreestians  second.  'Tis  that  suld  be  writ 
ower  the  hoose  door." 

"You  sut'n'y  kin  talk  scan'lous  'bout  yo' 
own  white  folks  when  you  gits  r'ady,"  said 
Mammy  Henny,  outraged. 

"Woman,"  replied  Alison,  ''it's  no  the  talk 
that's  scandeelous;  it's  the  facts." 

"I  ain'  no  'woman,'  an'  don'  you  call  me 
so.  ...  I  done  tole  you  dat  befo',"  snapped 
the  other. 

Alison's  cold  gray  eye  summed  up  the 
fertile  outline  of  her  adversary,  so  reminiscent 
of  that  of  Diana  of  the  Ephesians:  'If  ye're 
no  a  woman,  ye're  an  unco'  guid  immeeta- 
tion  o'  one,"  said  she. 

'*An'  you  se  a  moughty  po  one.     De  Lawd 
sut'n'y  did  mek  yo'  talk  an'  yo'   bordy  tub 
82 


TRIX    AND    0VP:R-THE-M00N 

match  .  .  .  one's  ez  hard  an'  sharp  as  t'uther. 
But,  blow  high,  blow  low,  I  ain'  gwine  hev 
you  callin'  me  "ooman,'  and  dat's  flat.  .  .  . 
I'll  speak  to  Marse  Sidney  'bout  it  ef  you 
gwan,  jes  ez  sho'  ez  I  live.     So  now." 

"It's  by-ordinar,"  said  Alison,  meditative- 
ly, watching  her,  as  she  banged  irons  in  and 
out  of  the  fire,  and  spat  on  them  as  though 
they  were  the  causes  of  her  indignation. 
"It's  by-ordinar  how  a'  black-bodies  fufi 
like  gibbie-cats  when  they're  angered.  Wha'd 
a  thocht  a  woman  wu'ld  be  angered  at  bein' 
ca'd  a  woman  .?" 

"An'  I  tell  you  right  now  dat  I'm  'bout 
wo'  out  wid  hearin'  you  call  ev'y  cullud- 
pusson  a  'black-bordy'  ...  I  reckon  if  yo' 
had  a  leetle  mo'  Bible-l'arnin'  you'd  hole  up 
on  'black'  an'  'black-bordy,'  'caze  I  gwine 
'stonish  you  right  con'sid'able  now. .  .  .  Moses, 
he  hed  a  black  ivifeP'' 

"Hoots!  Keep  me!  The  auld  limmer's 
horn-daft!"  ejaculated  Alison,  dropping  her 
knitting,  the  better  to  observe  Mammy 
Henny  at  bay.  "Dinna  ye  fear  the  wrath  o' 
Gude,  that  ye  tak'  the  name  o'  His  prophet 
in  vain  V 

83 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MQON 

" '  Hoots'  yo'se'f,"  retorted  Mammy  Henny, 
"I  kin  show  it  tuh  you  in  de  Bible." 

"Ablins  ye  can  and  ablins  ye  canna,"  said 
Alison,  much  taken  aback,  but  concealing 
the  fact  successfully. 

"I'se  able  all  right.  .  .  .  Jes'  you  wait  a 
minuit  twell  I  git  my  specs.  Br'er  Thomp- 
son preached  'bout  hit  yestiddy — an'  he's 
a  young  cullud  gen'man  uv  I'arnin'  .  .  .  book- 
I'arnin',  too.  He  ben  to  Harksorn  College 
in  Richmon',  an'  to  Hampton  School,  too 
.  .  .  an'  he  knows.  ...  A  Ethyoppian  is  a  black 
pusson  .  .  .  an'  dat's  de  kynd  Moses  he  up 
an'  mah'y.  De  tex'  am  Numbers,  chapter 
twelve  an'  varse  one  .  .  .  an'  soon's  I  kin 
hitch  on  dese  specs  I  gwine  show  hit  tuh 
you." 

The  kinky  gray  head  in  its  plaid  kerchief 
and  the  sleek  flax-and-salt  poll  almost  pressed 
together  in  a  fearful  and  temporary  amity, 
while  Mammy  Henny's  knubbly  black  fore- 
finger dug  at  each  word  as  she  read  it  aloud, 
to  make  it  more  impressive: 

***An'    Miriam    an'    Aaron   spake   ag'inst 
Moses    because   of  the    Ethyoppian    woman 
who  he  had  mah'ied;   for  .  .  .  he  .  .  .  Jicd  .  .  . 
84 


TRIX    AND    QVER-THE-MOON 

mah'ied  .  .  .  an  .  .  .  Ethyoppian  .  .  .  woman.' 
Dyar  now!  .  .  .  Whut  you  mek  outer  datf 
.  .  .  We  may  be  'black'  an'  'niggers,'  but 
Moses  done  mah'y  one  uv  us  .  .  .  dey  ain't 
no  gwine'  back  o'  dat,  caze  hit's  in  de  Bible. 
...  What  you  say  'bout  it  ?  .  .  .  Mh  .?  .  .  ." 

"I  canna'  say  that  I'm  preceesely  astonish't 
at  Miriam  and  Aaron,"  said  Alison,  slowly, 
"but  I  will  admeet  that  I'm  sair  disappointit 
in  Moses.  He  that  had  the  gift  o'  spaein'. 
I  suld  a  thocht  he  wad  a'  spaed  yon  sur- 
prisin'  deespensation  and  ta'en  measures 
accordingly." 

"Well,  talk  hit  up  an'  talk  hit  down,  or 
talk  hit  hind  part  befo',  what  he  done  was 
tub  mah'y  a  black  woman.  You  seed  dat 
thoo  yo'  own  specs  .  .  .  ain't  you  .?" 

"Thaur's  somewhat  wrang  wi'  the  trans- 
lation. ...  I  he'a  nae  doobts  aboot  that.  Or 
ablins  Ethiops  waur  white  in  thae  days. 
But  what  I  hau'd  by  the  strangest  is  that 
rod  of  his.  Dod,  that  waur  a  powerfu'  rod, 
Henny  Miner!" 

"What  you  mixin'  up  de  rod  wid  it  fur.?" 

"Woman,  dinna'  ye  ken  that  a  rod  that  cud 
turn  the  hale  air  to  blackness  for  three  days 
85 


TRIX    AND    OVK  R-T  H  E-M  O  O  N 

cu'd  turn  ane  black  woman  white  for  as  lanir 
at  it  pleased  Heaven  to  let  her  bide  ?" 

"Tu'n  her  white  ?"  said  Mammy,  staggered. 

"Aye,"  replied  Alison.  "I'll  believe  in  a 
wheen  muckle  meericles  or  yet  I'll  believe 
that  Moses  foregathered  wi'  a  black  woman. 
Forbye,  as  I  first  said,  I  doubtna'  the  trans- 
lations a'  wrang."  And  that  was  all  the 
satisfaction  that  Mammy  Henny  got  out  of 
her  astounding  revelation  of  Biblical  history. 

Alison's  prejudice  against  the  negroes  was 
deep  and  strong,  rooted  in  nationality  and 
tradition,  for  had  she  not  known  since  a  wee 
lass  that  Auld  Hornie  often  appeared  in  the 
likeness  of  a  "muckle  black  man".?  "I 
wadna  lippen  to  ony  woo'-heid"  (for  so  she 
called  them  to  herself)  "that  was  e'er  born. 
They're  a'  sib  to  th'  de'il.  .  .  .  'Tisna  in  the 
nature  o'  Proveedence  to  fessin  up  muckle 
guid  in  sic  a  covering.  Night  and  day,  gude 
and  bad,  black  and  white,  they're  a'  set  apairt 
by  His  ain  decree.  .  .  .  Na,  I  wadna  be  ower- 
trustfu'  wi'  ony — weans  or  grawn  folk." 

But  at  present,  despite  her  cranky  mood, 
she  was  disposed  to  smooth  Mammy  Henny's 
ruffled  feathers,  for  there  were  certain  things 
86 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

that  she  wanted  to  find  out,  and  only  through 
the  old  negress  could  she  get  the  desired  in- 
formation. 

She  opened  the  conversation  in  this  wise: 

"Yon's  a  wild,  rampaugin'  beast  that  our 
leddy's  sae  daft  about  the  noo.  Are  ye  no 
frichtit  tae  see  her  on  him  ?" 

"  My  young  mistis'  could  '  a'  rid  one  o'  them 
fiery  hawses  whut  tuk  'Lyjah  tuh  glory," 
said  Mammy  Henny,  loftily. 

"Aye,  she's  a  grand  guid  horsewoman; 
a'  the  wairld  kens  that." 

Mammy  Henny  was  mollified  at  once. 

"Well,  tuh  tell  you  de  trufe,"  she  ad- 
mitted, '*  I  does  git  a  leetle  skeered  sometimes. 
Joe  he  say  dat  hawse  got  de  debble  hid  'way 
in  him  somewhar,  en'  some  day  hit  comin'  out. 
.  .  .  'Twa'n't  de  hawse  skeered  me  so  much  ez 
Joe's  sayin'  dat.  .  .  .  He  moughty  ecomercle 
of  his  wuds,  Joe  is.  An'  dat  mean  a  heap  fum 
him." 

"'Tis  a  fearsome-luikin'  beast  whatever," 
Alison  said.  "I  mind  when  I  first  saw  him 
I  thocht  he  had  a  singular  ee  to  his  heid. 
And  ae  day  I  luikit  him  in  the  shine  o'  th'  ee, 
and  he  glowered  back  at  me  like  a  man.  The 
87 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

mistress  suldna  be  triflin'  \vi'  sic  ramstouger- 
ous  bestial  and  she  as  she  is  the  noo." 

"Dey  ain'  nuttin'  de  matter  wid  her  ez  I 
sees,"  said  Mammy  Henny,  tartly. 

"Oh,  woman,"  said  Alison,  "d'ye  think 
I've  a  clout  afore  my  een  ?  Twa  auld  wives 
like  you  an'  me  suld  think  shame  to  theirsel's 
gin  they  couldna  see  through  a  bit  ither 
woman  wha'd  like  fine  to  keep  a  secret  a'  the 
wairld  maun  ken,  suner  or  later." 

"I  don'  hole  wid  nosin'  'round  to  fin'  out 
things  'bout  people  what  dey  ain't  tole  you," 
said  the  other,  with  superiority.  "Miss  Trix 
sut'n'y  would  be  good  an'  mad  ef  she  think 
you  was  guessin'  'bout  her  dis-^a-way." 

"I'm  no  guessin';  I'm  knowin'.  I'd  be  a 
horn-tammie  gin  I  didna  know.  And  when 
I  see  her  tossit  up  like  a  ball  on  to  that 
flaunty,  skellochin'  beast,  it  gies  me  a  cauld 
grue." 

"I  tell  you  Miss  Trix  'ud  give  you  wuss'n 
cold  gruel  ...  I  s'pose  dat  what  you  means 
.  .  .  ef  she  could  hyah  you.  .  .  .  You  better  not 
go  hintin'  'round  her.  She  was  moughty 
perky  and  standoffish  'fo'  leetle  Marse  Tim 
wuz   bawn.     'Twa'n't   nobordy   dyah   say   a 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MO  ON 

wud  to  her  'cep'in'  'twuz  me.  .  .  .  An'  I  ain't 
say  many,  /  kin  tell  you!" 

"Wad  ye  let  her  gang  to  her  deith  for  fear 
of  a  bit  whirliwhaw  of  temper  ?  .  .  .  Wad  ye 
let  her  risk  her  life  .  .  .  and  the  bairn's  .  .  .  for 
lack  of  a  bit  courage  ?  .  .  .  I  gi'e  ye  warnin', 
woman  to  woman  ...  an  she  gangs  this 
gait  muckle  langer,  /'//  speir  whaur  she's 
gangin'  an  ye  winna." 

"You  heap  better  go  out  dyah  right  now 
an'  stick  yo'  hade  in  a  hornick's  nes',"  said 
Mammy  Henny.  "You'll  do  yo'  own  ways, 
uv  co'se,  like  you  alluz  does  .  .  .  but  I  wouldn't 
be  in  yo'  skin  furrer  heap  while  you'se  doin' 
hit." 

And  she  gathered  up  the  beautifully  fluted 
blouses  and  departed  to  the  house. 


VIII 

TRIX  was  well  content  these  days.  The 
Percheron  had  turned  out  splendidly. 
Over-the-Moon  was  learning  his  lessons  slow- 
ly but  surely.  "Thoroughbreds  always  take 
longer  to  school — but  they  just  saunter  in 
when  the  half-breeds  are  dead  beat,"  she  had 
informed  Sidney,  when  he  commented  on 
some  backwardness  in  her  favorite.  The 
crops  were  most  promising,  and  many  foals 
had  arrived  upon  the  scene.  It  was  a  "sight 
for  sair  een,"  as  even  AHson  admitted,  to  see 
them  wheeling  about  their  dams  in  the  big 
paddocks,  all  lush  and  green  now  with  the 
May,  little  stilt-legged  browns  and  fawns,  with 
funny,  fuzzy  docks,  that  looked  more  like 
fox-brushes  than  horse-tails.  Some  were  the 
cocky  offspring  of  the  coach-horse.  King  Mil- 
dred, and  sailed  about  with  heads  and  tails  up 
as  though  practising  already  for  the  ring;  the 
90 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

rest  were  airily  fleeting  little  bloods,  that  got 
over  the  ground,  to  quote  Alison  again,  "as 
light  as  sae  mony  scuddin'-stanes  ower  a 
pond."  For  of  late  this  strange  person  had 
begun  to  take  an  undeniable  interest  in  the 
equine  members  of  the  Oldwood  family. 
She  would  lean  on  the  rails  near  the  paddocks 
with  her  knitting  and  watch  the  new-comers 
for  an  hour  at  a  time,  and  occasionally  she 
bestowed  an  apple  at  arm's-length  on  some 
of  the  yearlings  that  came  up  to  investigate 
her. 

Indeed,  the  horse-fever  seemed  spreading  at 
Oldwood  this  season,  for  Sidney,  too,  had  a 
sharp  attack  of  it,  in  a  literary  way,  and  it 
was  at  this  time  that  Tim  made  his  one 
sporting  bon-mot.  It  had  occurred  when 
queer  old  Mrs.  Clarke,  who  had  a  weakness 
for  anisette  cordial,  while  waiting  one  day 
for  her  hostess  to  appear,  had  gone  nosing 
about  in  the  pantry — lured  by  the  smell  of 
a  paregoric  bottle  that  Mammy  Henny  had 
left  on  a  shelf  after  dosing  Tim — and  being 
short-sighted,  had  pressed  the  lofty  plumes 
of  her  bonnet  into  a  sheet  of  flv-paper. 

"Muvver,"  Tim  had  whispered,  after  the 
91 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

disconcerted  lady  had  been  released,  "she 
was  'featherin'  on  a  scent,'  wa'ant  she?" 

"Well,  you  ought  to  have  hopes  of  him 
after  that,"  Sidney  had  chuckled. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  Trix  had  answered,  with 
mournful  insight;  "it  just  shows  that  he 
takes  the  whole  thing  in,  and  don't  care  a 
hang  for  it." 

As  for  Sidney's  venture  in  the  "horsey" 
line,  Trix  had  broken  it  to  him  about  her  idea 
of  keeping  a  pack  of  hounds  and  being  Lady 
Master;  and  after  the  first  to-be-expected  out- 
burst the  title  of  Lady  Master  had  so  fasci- 
nated him  as  the  possible  title  for  a  story 
that  he  had  announced  his  intention  of 
writing  one. 

"I'll  read  up  thoroughly,  of  course,"  he 
had  replied  to  Trix's  frank  whistle  of  amaze- 
ment, "and  then  you  can  look  it  over  and 
see  that  it's  all  right.  But  mind  you,  Trix, 
it's  perfect  nonsense  about  your  hunting  your 
own  hounds  .  .  .  just  see  what  that  English- 
man, Benson,  said  about  it  when  you  told 
him — and  you  know  he  knows." 

"'And  she  saw  /  saw  Esau*''  chanted  Trix, 
lightly.  "  I  don't  care  what  Benson,  or  John- 
92 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

son,  or  Thomson,  or  any  other  son  of  man 
says,"  she  declared,  "I'm  going  to  do  it,  and 
it  '11  be  well  done,  too." 

"But  it's  impossible,  with  all  the  other 
things  you  have  to  do.  .  .  .  You  know  Benson 
said  it  was  a  life  job  in  itself,  keeping  hounds. 
.  .  .  Don't  be  pig-headed,  Trix." 

**I  .  .  .  am  .  .  .  going  .  .  .  to  .  .  .  have  ...  a 
.  .  .  pack  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  hunt  .  .  .  them,"  said 
Trix.  "This  Albemarle  clay's  the  very  thing 
for  kennels.  .  .  .  All  the  best  men  hold  by  clay. 
.  ,  .  It's  destiny." 

For  the  present,  however,  her  hands 
were  quite  full  enough  with  Over  -  the  - 
Moon,  whom  she  hoped  to  have  in  shape 
for  the  autumn  horse  -  shows,  and  two 
yearlings  that  she  chose  to  exercise  alter- 
nately on  a  lunging  rein  along  the  roads — 
two  beautiful  fillies  by  the  same  sire,  as  like 
as  their  reflection  in  water,  and  destined  to 
win  for  her  cups  and  blue  ribbons  galore. 
Trix  rode  the  confidential  Horace,  and  a 
prettier  picture  could  not  be  fancied  than 
the  three  made,  swinging  off  down  the  slant, 
green  lawn  through  the  long  afternoon  shad- 
ows of  the  locust-trees,  Trix  poised  like  a 
93 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MOON 

white  bird  in  the  saddle,  Horace  pretending 
to  be  mighty  serious  and  responsible,  with 
this  flighty  young  thing  dancing  along  at  his 
crupper,  and  the  filly,  now  trying  the  slack 
of  the  crimson  rein,  now  darting  alongside, 
full  of  oats  and  spring  and  good-spirits  and 
good-will. 

It  was  this  sight  that  sent  Sidney  to  his 
study  one  afternoon  before  he  was  thorough- 
ly up  in  horse-lore,  for,  as  he  told  himself, 
"it  was  a  bounden  duty  to  put  her  in  print." 
Such  a  chance  did  not  come  to  many  writers. 

The  result  of  his  afternoon's  labor  he  read 
to  Trix  that  evening  while  she  embroidered. 
She  said  that  she  "got  the  jumps  in  her 
fingers"  if  they  w^re  idle  for  a  moment. 
The  story  was  to  be  a  short  one,  and  he 
had  plunged  in  me d las  res^  to  get  down  his 
impressions  while  the  fit  was  fresh  upon 
him.  Trix  settled  herself,  cocked  attentive 
little  ears,  and  the  reading  began. 

"I  call  it  The  Lady  M aster ^^  he  said,  clear- 
ing his  throat  with  some  embarrassment. 
He  found  it  rather  more  trying  than  he  had 
thought  it  would  be  to  read  an  amateur's 
attempt  to  so  keen  a  professional. 
94 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"Well,  do  go  on,"  she  responded,  "Tm 
really  burning  to  hear  it." 

"Of  course  it  '11  have  mistakes  .  .  ."  he 
said,  nervously. 

"Of  course,"  coolly.  "I'll  do  all  that  over 
for  you." 

"Well  .  .  .  here  goes,"  said  Sidney,  and 
plunged  ahead  as  follows: 

"'This  girl,  v^ho  looked  like  a  boy,  v^as 
mounted  on  a  superb  sorrel  gelding  fifteen 
five  in  height.'" 

Trix  dropped  her  work,  and  her  mouth 
fell  apart,  but  she  did  not  interrupt  him. 

"'And  about  them  clustered  a  seethino; 
mass  of  sound,  fleet  dogs,  with  their  curved 
tails  set  scimetar-like  with  excitement.  .  .  .  '" 

Trix's  mouth  seemed  frozen  into  a  pink 
round,  for  she  had  not  shut  it  yet. 

"'No  flirting,  maggoty  lot  were  they,  no 
chanting,  chattering  crowd,  but  a  throng  of 
wise  old-timers  who  meant  business.  But 
even  as  it  was,  this  girl,  a  huntsman  born, 
and  keener  than  they,  winded  the  fox  before 
they  did.  .  .  /      What's  the  matter,  Trix  ?" 

And  he  stopped  abruptly,  fixing  a  discon- 
tented eye  on  his  wife,  who  as  usual  with  her 
95 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 


when  in  extreme  throes  of  mirth,  was  laugh- 
ing Hterally  to  tears. 

"Of  course,  I  knew  you'd  have  to  look  it 
over,"  he  said,  smiling  rather  one-sidedly. 
"But  what's  as  wrong  as  all  that?" 

"How  .  .  .  how  .  .  .  how  high  did  you  say 
that  horse  was,  Sidney  ?"  she  gasped,  when 
she  could  speak  at  all. 

"  Fifteen  five.  .  .  .  It's  a  very  good  height, 
1  think,"  he  replied,  with  some  stiffness. 
"I  don't  see  anything  to  go  into  spasms  over 
about  it." 

"Sidney  Nelson  Bruce  ...  do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  that  you  don't  know  'a  hand' 
measures  four  inches  ?  It's  .  .  .  it's  .  .  .  per- 
fectly incredible!"  said  Trix,  and  she  was 
off  again. 

Sidney  looked  a  bit  sheepish. 

"That  was  rather  a  break,"  he  admitted. 
"  But  what  else  .?" 

"Hounds  don't  have  t  .  .  .  t  .  .  .  tails," 
murmured  she,  wiping  her  eyes  on  a  corner 
of  the  blouse  that  she  was  embroidering. 

"Oh  yes!  .  .  .  'sterns'  ...  of  course!  .  .  . 
I  did  know  that  .  .  .  that  was  a  slip."     He 
corrected  it.     "  Next  ?" 
96 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"And  you  mustn't  call  'em  dogs  except 
for   breeding    purposes." 

"No  ?  .  .  .  That's  odd.  ...  It  seems  a  very 
arbitrary  sort  of  dialect,  I  must  say.     Next  ?" 

"You  have  me  there,"  admitted  Trix, 
still  chuckling  weakly.  "/  don't  know^  what 
'flirting'  and  'maggoty'  mean.  'Chant'  and 
'chatter'  ain't  bad,  but  I  never  heard  of 
them  either,  until  now.     Did  you   make  'em 

5" 

up : 

"No,"  said  he,  curtly,  "I  didn't.  But  I 
was  so  sick  of  the  usual  terms  that  I  thought 
these  would  be  an  agreeable  change.  I 
found  'em  in  an  old  thing  over  at  Carter 
Nelson's  ...  all  'f's'  for  's's,'  you  know." 

"I'd  like  to  see  it,"  said  Trix,  sitting  up, 
alert  in  a  moment.  "It  must  be  interesting. 
I  suppose 'maggoty' means  light-headed  .  .  . 
crack-brained  ...  'a  maggot'  in  one's  brain, 
you  know.  .  .  .  And  'flirting'  just  expresses 
itself  I  must  ask  him  to  lend  it  to  me. 
You  think  he  will  ?" 

"Sure  to.  But  let's  get  back  to  this. 
What's  wrong  with  the  rest  ?" 

Trix  broke  forth  again. 

"It's  a  gem,  Sidney  ...  a  perfect  gem! 
97 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

That  touch  about  the  Lady  Master  winding 
the  fox  is  simply  .  .  .  simply.  .  .  ." 

She  giggled  so  that  she  could  not  go  on. 

"I  thought  it  made  it  very  vivid.  People 
do  wind  foxes  sometimes,  don't  they.''  I'm 
sure  I've  heard  of  it." 

"They  do  if  they  have  'em  in  a  bag." 

"But  I  know  I've  heard  of  it." 

"Of  course  you  have.  It's  some  sort  of 
shrub  that  they  smell,  and  then  they  cry 
proudly,  *I  smell  a  fox!'" 

"And  they  don't,  really.?" 

"I'm  afraid  not.  I'm  afraid  that  '11  have 
to  go  out.  .  .  .  Unless  you  publish  it  as  a 
humorous  skit  on  the  knowing  green  fox- 
hunter.  Why  don't  you  ?  I  think  that's  a 
really  brilliant  idea.  It's  truly  too  funny 
for  words.  It  '11  make  a  real  hit  if  you  go 
on  as  you've  begun." 

And  she  laughed  and  laughed  again. 


IX 


IN  the  mean  time  Alison  kept  the  things  of 
which  she  had  spoken  to  Mammy  Henny 
in  her  heart,  and  pondered  them  very  deeply. 
She  saw  her  chance  one  afternoon,  about 
three  weeks  after,  and  availed  herself  of  it 
with  the  dour  promptitude  that  character- 
ized all  her  actions  when  her  mind  was  once 
made  up. 

"I'm  no  ane  to  stand  haukin'  and  swauk- 
in'  aince  my  fit's  on  the  way,"  she  had  said 
to  the  more  timorous  Mammy  Henny.  "Gin 
I  can  see  the  hinder-end  of  the  thing  I'm 
wantin'  I  shank  aff  wi'  a'  my  micht." 

It  happened  in  this  way: 

Trix  had  ordered  Over-the-Moon  saddled 
for  her,  and  as  the  cynical  Benson  .  .  .  cynical 
as  to  her  hunting  her  own  hounds,  that  is  .  .  . 
had  called  at  Oldwood  that  day  for  a  thorough 
discussion  of  the  subject,  she  decided  that  she 
99 


TRIX     AND    OVKR-THE-MQQN 

would  mount  at  the  front  door  and  ride  a  part 
of  the  way  back  with  him  toward  his  own 
farm.  AHson,  from  an  upper  window,  was  a 
keenly  interested  witness  of  the  subsequent 
proceedings. 

Over-the-Moon,  who  had  been  stabled  for 
two  days  owing  to  a  foot  that  he  had  hung  by 
kicking  in  his  box,  came  up  saying  "Ha-ha!" 
through  squared  nostrils,  like  the  war-horse  in 
Job.  He  had  a  bloom  on  him,  as  Trix  had 
once  said,  "like  a  black  Hamburg  grape," 
and  his  sheer  radiance  struck  Benson  so  dumb 
with  admiration  that  he  left  unsaid  his  master 
argument  against  the  keeping  and  breeding 
of  hounds  by  any  woman  whomsoever. 

Then,  after  quite  a  tow-row,  Trix  had  land- 
ed safely  in  the  saddle,  and  smuggled  the  roan 
on  to  the  grass,  that  Benson  might  get  a  better 
look  at  him.  What  happened  during  the  next 
five  minutes  no  one  could  ever  exactly  tell.  Sid- 
ney said  that  it  was  Tim's  witless  bantam  cock, 
who  took  this  occasion  to  squatter  out  across 
the  gravel  with  two  of  his  harem;  Joe  said  that 
it  was  "jes  low-lifetedness.  .  .  ."  Benson 
thought  that  she  might  have  touched  him  with 
her  spur  in  his  giddy  whirlings  and  doublings. 

100 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

.  .  .  Trix  declared  that  he  had  simply  "rung 
his  head  like  a  dinner-bell  and  dizzied  him- 
self. "  The  result,  however,  was  that  he  crossed 
his  legs  and  came  a  thwacking  cropper  on  the 
near  side,  between  the  front  steps  and  a  big 
crape-myrtle.  IVix  kicked  herself  free  in  an 
instant  and  got  to  her  feet,  swinging  on  to  the 
reins  until  Joe  came  to  the  rescue  and  got 
hold  of  the  roan,  who  seemed  bent  on  follow- 
ing the  coursers  of  the  sun  up  the  steep  of  blue 
May  heaven.  The  leaping-horn  was  crushed 
double,  and  there  was  a  slight  cut  down  Trix's 
temple,  which  bled  upon  the  white  linen  of 
her  habit  and  gave  things  a  tragic  touch. 

Sidney  had  implored  her  not  to  ride  him 
that  afternoon,  and  even  Joe  had  muttered 
something,  while  the  silence  of  the  judicious 
Benson  spoke  louder  than  words.  But  they 
reckoned  without  their  Trix.  She  had  an- 
other saddle  brought,  and  was  on  him  again 
and  putting  him  through  his  paces  on  the 
grass  before  they  could  realize  that  this 
smoothly  moving  bit  of  satin-bound  machin- 
ery had  been  behaving  more  like  a  daft  motor- 
car than  a  horse  only  fifteen  minutes  before. 

"That  fall  sobered  him  up,  you  see,"  she 

lOI 


X  TRIX    AND    0VER-THP:-M0  0N 

called,  triumphantly,  as  she  did  high-school 
eights  over  the  short  turf,  the  beautiful  beast 
changing  his  lead  in  answer  to  the  movements 
of  her  lithe  body. 

"  Isn't  this  doing  pretty  well  for  such  a  wild 
'un,  after  only  a  month's  schooling  r" 

So  she  had  a  very  peaceful  jog  on  him  with 
Benson,  after  all,  and  brought  him  home 
across  a  bit  of  country  where  she  knew  the 
jumps,  he  behaving  like  a  "chrisom-child" 
all  the  way. 

"He's  all  right,  Joe,"  she  said,  as  she 
swung  off  him  on  her  return.  "There's  no 
real  harm  in  him.  ...  I  wouldn't  sell  him  for 
his  weight  in  emeralds.  ...  I  b'licve  they're 
up  just  now." 

And  she  came  back  to  the  house,  very  light- 
hearted  but  limping  a  little,  for  the  fall  had 
wrenched  one  of  her  ankles,  to  be  confronted 
at  her  bedroom  door  by  fate  in  the  shape  of 
Alison  Stark. 

"Culd  ye  gi'e  me  twa-three  minutes  when 
ye're  changed,  Mrs.  Bruce  .^"  said  she. 
"Thaur's  summat  hings  heavy  on  my  hairt, 
though  I'm  sweer  to  be  troublin'  ye." 

"Why,  of  course,  Alison.  .  .  .  I'll  ring  for 

102 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

you  as  soon  as  I've  had  my  bath.  No  bad 
news  from  Scotland,  I  hope?" 

"Na,  na,  an'  thank  ye  kindly.  Dinna  fash 
yoursel'  aboot  me.  'Tisna  of  mysel'  I  wad 
be  speakin'." 

And  with  that  she  was  gone,  to  wait  in  her 
little  dormer-windowed  room  until  the  bell 
rang,  with  her  old  Scotch  Bible  open  upon  her 
knee  before  her  unseeing,  unspectacled  eyes, 
for  the  strength  of  its  mere  contact. 

''Now,"  said  Trix,  when,  feeling  rather 
tired  after  her  bath,  she  lay  wrapped  in  her 
dressing-gown  on  a  sofa,  and  motioned  Alison 
to  a  chair  near  by,  "what  is  it,  Alison.? 
You've  got  me  downright  nervous  with  your 
solemn  face." 

"Mair  like  'tis  juist  Nature  that  gars  ye  feel 
sae,  madam,"  said  she,  refusing  the  proffered 
chair.  "I  mind  before  my  Jamie  came  I 
was  aye  flekkerin'  like  a  feather  in  a  draucht 
gin  a  mouse  cheepit.  It  '11  juist  be  Nature, 
ma'am." 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  Alison  ?" 
asked  Trix,  quirking  one  eyebrow  in  a  way 
that  hinted  danger  to  those  who  knew  her. 

"Why,  juist  that,"  said  AHson,  innocently. 

8  103 


TRIX    AND    QVER-THE-MOON 

"A'  womenfolk  are  sib  to  ither  i'  juist  that  ae 
thing." 

"Will  you  speak  plainly?"  said  Trix. 

"Weel,  I  ken  that  my  auld  Scotch  tongue 
mak's  lig-lag  to  your  lugs,  madam,"  replied 
Alison,  deprecatingly,  and  still  regarding  her 
with  guileless,  pale-gray  eyes.  "  But  ye  maun 
juist  try  to  pit  oop  wi'  it  for  a  wee,  and  no  be 
lettin'  yoursel'  get  fashed  wi'  me  .  .  .  for  that's 
the  warst  of  a'  for  ye,  an' ye  as  ye  are  the 
noo. 

"  I  wish  you'd  say  exactly  what  you  came  to 
say  to  me  and  get  it  over,"  said  Trix,  and  her 
hands  took  a  tight  grip  on  the  arms  of  the 
sofa,  for  she  had  a  fierce  desire  to  rise  and 
bundle  the  old  woman  out  of  the  room. 

Alison's  face  changed  suddenly.  The  bleak 
brows  came  down,  and  the  dour  lower  lip  shot 
out.  Her  glance  was  no  longer  mild  and  in- 
nocent. She  fixed  a  piercing  gaze  on  her 
mistress  and  came  a  step  nearer. 

"Aweel,  then,"  she  said,  "I'll  nae  langer 
play  seek-and-hod  wi'  ye,  but  come  to  the 
bare  banes  o'  the  truth.  It's  this  I'm  fain  to 
say  to  ye,  Mrs.  Bruce.  Are  ye  no  afeared  to 
tempt  Proveedence,  aye  day,  as  ye've  been 
104 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

temptin'    Him,   by   riskin'   twa    lives   on  yon 
sauvage  Sawtan  of  a  beast?" 

Trix  was  on  her  feet  in  a  moment,  facing 
her. 

"Alison  .  .  ."  she  began,  and  paused  to  con- 
trol herself.  Then  she  said  in  a  cold  voice: 
"I  don't  think  you  know  how  impertinent 
you  are — so  I  forgive  you.  But  you  must  not 
talk  to  me  hke  this." 

She  moved  as  if  going  to  the  door,  but  Ali- 
son caught  her  by  the  arm,  and  again  her  man- 
ner had  changed,  for  now  it  was  softened, 
almost  wheedling. 

"Oh,  my  dawtie,"  she  said,  her  harsh  voice 
trembling,  "dinna  ye  be  angered  wi'  an  auld 
woman  wha  ha'e  diddled  your  man  and  your 
first  wean  upo'  her  knee.  .  ."  .  Wha'  for  suld  I 
speak  but  for  your  ain  sake  an'  ye  sae  pale  an' 
eerie-like,  it  cracks  my  hairt.  .  .  •  Ye're  but  a 
young,  bit  thing  .  .  .  juist  a  bairn  yoursel'. 
How  suld  ye  be  kennin'  the  risk  ye  rin  aye 
time  ye  get  upo'  that  Warlock  beast .?  And 
gin  I  ken,  and  gin  I  didna  warn  ye  .  .  .  what 
for  wad  I  be  leevin'  and  eatin'  the  maister's 
bread  ? " 

The  ring  of  genuine  pain  in  the  old  voice 
105 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

softened  Trix  at  once.  She  laid  her  hand  over 
the  gnarled  fingers  on  her  arm  and  spoke 
gently. 

"I'm  sure  you  mean  the  very  best,  Alison," 
she  said.  "I'm  sorry  if  I  was  cross — but  I 
don't  like  people  to  meddle  with  me  .  .  .  not 
even  with  the  very  best  intentions,  you  under- 
stand. So  we'll  just  forget  that  this  has  hap- 
pened and  say  no  more  about  it." 

"I'd  be  sick-laith  to  anger  ye,  madam," 
persisted  Alison,  still  clinging  to  the  strong 
little  arm  that  stiffened  under  her  eager  clutch 
in  its  owner's  effort  at  self-control.  "Sick- 
laith  I'd  be  to  do  it,  but,  oh!  I  maun  try  to 
mak'  ye  see  the  gait  ye're  gangin'.  Thaur's  a 
muckle  deep  bog-land  ayont  ye,  an'  ye  an'  a' 
our  hopes  may  be  smoored  in  it  afore  ye  ken. 
Dinna  ye  gang  on  as  ye've  been  gangin'. 
Dinna  ye  ride  yon  mad,  fleysome  beast  again. 
.  .  .  Dinna  ye  do  it.  .  .  .  Dinna  ye  do  it." 

"Alison,"  said  Trix,  who  could  be  very 
patient  when  she  set  her  mind  to  it,  "sit  down 
here — you're  trembling  all  over,  poor  soul — 
sit  here,  and  let  me  explain  to  you.  You  see, 
you  don't  know  anything  about  riding,  and 
what  seems  to  you  a  savage,  dreadful  beast 
1 06 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

out  of  a  fairy-tale  is  just  a  high-spirited,  dif- 
ficult horse  to  me,  that  '11  make  a  splendid 
hunter  and  steeplechaser  (that's  a  sort  of 
race -horse,  you  know)  when  I've  finished 
with  him.  .  .  ." 

"Ou  ay,  an  he  doesna  feenish  wi'  you," 
groaned  Alison,  all  her  Scotch  composure 
gone,  and  the  naked  roots  of  her  heart  bared 
for  Trix  to  see.  "Gin  onything  misfell  you, 
the  maister  wad  ne'er  lift  up  his  heid  mair. 
...  If  ye  winna  stop  for  the  unborn  bairn  .  .  . 
think  o'  him  .  .  .  stop  for  him.  Oh,  I  ha'e  grat 
like  a  bairn  mysel'  wi'  the  thocht  o'  it,  mony's 
the  lang,  lang  nicht-tide." 

And  she  covered  her  face  with  her  gaunt 
hands  and  sat  motionless  for  some  moments 
in  what  for  her  was  the  equivalent  of  tears. 

In  Alison's  life  there  had  been  one  great 
passion — her  love  for  her  master  and  nursling, 
Sidney  Bruce.  Her  own  sons  had  grown  up 
and  married  and  left  her  to  make  homes  of 
their  own,  and  it  was  when  the  last  had  gone 
that  she  came  back  as  nurse  to  the  m.onth-old 
baby  of  Mr.  Bruce,  who  had  married  a  Vir- 
ginia wife  and  was  going  to  make  his  home  in 
America. 

107 


T  R  I  X    AND    Q  V  E  R-T  H  E-M  O  O  N 

''Be  reasonable,  Alison,"  said  Trix  now, 
putting  a  kindly  little  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
"  I  know  how  you  love  your  master,  but  then 
I  love  him  too.  You  can't  think  I'd  do  any- 
thing to  hurt  him  or  .  .  .  or  .  .  .  any  one  else. 
Please  be  reasonable  and  trust  me  to  know 
what  is  right  for  me  to  do." 

"Three  bairns  o'  my  ana  ha'e  I  had,"  said 
Alison,  from  behind  her  shaking  hands;  "three 
braw  lads  an'  guid  .  .  .  but  no  ane  o'  them  a' 
warpl't  himsel'  i'  my  vera  hairt-strings  like 
this  bairn  that  I  bore  nae  pain  for." 

She  took  down  her  hand,  and  her  eyes  were 
dry  and  bright  as  she  gazed  past  Trix,  with  an 
eerie  look  as  though  seeing  some  future  thing 
shape  itself  on  the  air  before  her. 

"It's  a  lesson,  I  jalouse,"  she  went  on,  "ane 
o'  thae  hard  lessons  life's  aye  teachin'  us  .  .  . 
juist  the  lesson  that  the  mither-luve's  too  god- 
ly a  thing  tae  be  keep't  only  for  the  weans  of 
our  ain  flesh." 

Trix  spent  herself  in  comforting  arguments, 
but  remained  firm  about  riding  her  "jicky 
horse,"  and  Alison  had  to  depart  without  hav- 
ing secured  any  promises. 


X 


THE  morning  after  this  conversation 
Mammy  Henny  was  seated  in  the  Httle 
hall  between  the  pantry  and  store-room, 
thoughtfully  tying  up  the  "palate-lock"  of 
her  youngest  grandchild.  This  lock  is  sim- 
ply the  wool  that  grows  on  the  extreme  top 
of  the  head,  and  when  rigidly  wound  about 
with  cotton  thread,  so  as  to  stand  erect,  is 
believed  by  negroes  to  draw  up  the  uvula 
which  has  been  lengthened  by  cold  or  any 
other  cause. 

The  pickaninny — a  winy-brown  dumpling 
of  five  years — stood  with  solemn  eyes  between 
Mammy  Henny's  knees  while  the  operation 
went  on,  giving  a  cat-like  sneeze  every  now  and 
then,  which  wrenched  the  little  warlock  from 
Mammy's  fingers,  and  caused  her  to  exclaim: 

"Hi,  now!  You  wanter  stan'  hyah  twell 
doomsday  V 

ICQ 


T  R  I  X     AND    O  V  E  R-T  H  E-M  O  O  N 

Upon  this  scene  entered  Alison,  with  the 
key-basket  on  her  arm,  and  while  selecting 
the  store-room  key  from  among  the  others, 
she  regarded  the  process  with  a  lofty  disgust. 

"Ye'll  hyke  the  puir  bit  hizzy  frae  the 
groun'  gin  ye  conteenue,"  she  remarked,  at 
length.  "Sic  cantrips  wad  gar  a  horse  throw 
his  denner  up.  I  canna  thole  it,  Henny 
Miner.  Ye  that  gang  to  kirk  (or  so  ye  think 
it)  ilka  Sabbaith,  to  be  warplin'  the  woo'  frae 
the  heid  o'  vour  ain  kin  wi'  that  de'il's  non- 
sense. Ye  micht  as  weel  try  to  shorten  the 
horns  of  a  coo  by  yerkin'  her  tail  as  to  lift  the 
bairn's  palate  by  pu'in'  at  the  woo'  on  her 
pow." 

"De  devul  ain'  got  nuttin'  to  do  wid  it,'* 
said  Mammy,  unmoved,  winding  away  at  the 
lock,  which  now  stood  up  like  an  exclama- 
tion-point on  the  top  of  the  fuzzy  little  head. 
"You  moughty  free  wid  de  devul  in  yo'  talk. 
/  wouldn't  go  projeckin'  wid  he  name  like 
you  does  furrer  heap.  'Sides,  I  done  see  too 
many  palates  drawed  up  dis-hyah  way  to  min' 
yo'  talkin'." 

"What  the  puir  bagrel's  got  is  a  sittin'- 
down   cauld,"    persisted    Alison,    "and   what 

I  10 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

she  lacks  is  hot  flannel  to  her  wame  and  a 
guid  swat  betweesh  twa-three  blankets." 

"I  gwine  do  dat  too,"  said  Mammy.  "You 
so  pernickerty  an'  fault-findin',  Mis'  Stark, 
cyarn'  nobordy  please  you." 

"Hoots!  is  it  please  me  ?  .  .  .  Why  for  suld 
it  be  pleasin'  or  not  pleasin'  tae  me  ^  'Tis 
not  my  hair  is  bein'  warpl't  upricht  on  the  tap 
o'  my  skull,  like  an  Indian  chieftain's.  'Tis 
yon  puir  huzHn'  bairn  I'm  thinkin'  o'." 

And  with  a  deep  sniff,  expressive  of  help- 
less disgust,  she  unlocked  the  store-room  door 
and  went  in. 

"Please,  ma'am,  Mis'  Stark,"  called  Mam- 
my after  her,  "while  you  in  dyar,  jes  han'  me 
out  some  brown  sugar  to  fix  up  a  hot  drink 
for  dis  chile.  I  wouldn't  ax  you,  but  you  in 
dyar  a'ready." 

"'Tis  my  belief,  Henny  Miner,"  said  Ali- 
son, appearing  in  the  door  with  the  tin  sugar- 
scoop  in  her  hand,  "that  ye've  a  buck-tooth 
for  sweeties  in  your  ain  chafts.  I  gied  ye  a 
noggie  fu'  o'  sugar  yestreen." 

"Go  on  talkin' — /  don'  min'  you — 'tis 
Marse  Sidney's  and  Mis'  Trix's  sugar,  any- 
how. I  kin  eat  sugar  an  coffee  in  dis  house 
III 


T  R  I  X     AND    O  V  E  R-T  H  E-M  O  O  N 

ef  I  wants  tuh,  so  dyar!  'Sides,"  she  broke 
off,  peering  at  the  bulging  pocket  of  AHson's 
black  alpaca  apron,  "seems  tuh  me  you  done 
got  a  sweet  buck-tooth  uv  yo'  own — fur  white 
sugar  too.  .  .  an'  lump  at  dat.  Hyah !  Hyah ! " 
and  she  pointed  impertinently,  and  rolled  in 
her  chair  with  tnumphing  glee. 

"Ye' re  a  feckless  puir  body,"  said  Alison, 
with  a  calm  superiority.  "Ye  hae  na  the  im- 
ageenation  o'  a  jenny-spinner.  Dae  ye  think 
I'd  mar  the  gust  o'  guid  tobacco  wi'  a  pocket- 
fu'  o'  succar .?  .  .  .  'Tis  nae  for  mysel',  though 
ye  dinna  desairve  to  be  told  to  the  contrar'." 

"Lawsie!  ...  I  wonder  what  is  she  gwine 
do  wid  hit  V  asked  Mammy  of  the  wide  air- 

"That  I'll  tell  ye,"  said  Alison,  putting  a 
generous  saucer  of  brown  sugar  on  her  knee; 
"  not  to  grateefy  your  inqueesitiveness,  but  to 
hau'd  ye  frae  gabbin'  a'  ower  the  place,  when 
ye  ken  what  for  I  intend  it.  Now  hau'd  up 
your  lug,  an'  dinna  gae  skreikin'  when  I  tell 
ye  .  .  .  an'  dinna  be  pitten  fuleish  questions. 
.  .  .  'Tis  for  yon  fleysome  blue  horse  wi'  the 
de'il  in  him.  .  .  .  Gude  kens  'tis  no  a  canny 
color  for  a  beast.  I'm  thinkin'  he's  no  a-the- 
gither  canny,  wi'in  or  wi'oot." 

112 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"Fuh  Over-de-Moon  ? "  said  Mammy,  in 
the  hoarse  whisper  she  always  used  in  mo- 
ments of  intense  excitement.  "  Fuh  de  Lawd's 
sake!  .  .  .  What  done  tu'n  you  ?" 

"I  hae  nae  turnit,"  said  Alison,  primly, 
"but  it  behoves  me  tae  dae  my  tapmaist  to 
saften  yon  wild  beast's  hairt.  ...  I  had  a  grand 
giftie  for  the  bestial  when  I  waur  a  lass.  I 
mind  thaur  was  a  bullock  on  the  steadin' 
whaur  I  was  born  ...  a  sawvage,  ill-gi'en 
beast  Hke  yon  .  .  .  an'  a'  the  menfolk  waur 
fley'd  to  gang  wi'in  a  stane's-thraw  o'  him 
.  .  .  but  he  wad  come  to  my  whussle  like  a 
doggy  and  lap  the  saut  frae  my  loof.  .  .  .  Wha 
kens  what  guid  power  I  may  ha'e  ower  this 
ane : 

"Jeeze!"  was  all  that  Mammy  could  find 
to  say. 

"Dinna  sit  thaur  starin'  at  me  wi'  a  mou' 
like  a  kirk  door  on  a  Sabbaith,"  said  Alison, 
with  irritation.  "Can  ye  no  say  buff  nor 
stye }  .  .  ." 

" Lemme  come  wid  you!"  broke  forth 
Mammy. 

"Na,  na.  Ye'd  bauchle  a'.  I'll  gang  my 
lee-lane  to  gie  that  mad  horse  sweeties,  or  I'll 
113 


TRIX     AND    OVER-TH  E-M  O  O  N 

no  gang  at  a'.  I'll  na  sit  on  my  ain  coat-tail 
to  pleasure  onybody." 

"I'd  like  tuh  know  whose  you  gwine  set  on 
den  ? "  said  Mammy,  who  gathered  correctly 
that  this  was  a  refusal,  and  was  huffed  ac- 
cordingly.    "Thank  Gawd,  /  ain't  got  one!" 

Here  Tim  burst  from  a  hidden  nook  and 
took  Alison's  sharp  knees  into  a  wheedling 
embrace. 

"I  couldnt  help  hearing  you.  Nurse  Ailie," 
pleaded  he.  ''Please  lemme  go  wiv  you.  Oh, 
please!" 

"Na,  na,"  said  Alison  again,  unwinding  his 
arms  as  composedly  as  she  would  have  loosed 
a  brier  from  her  skirt.  "Ye  bide  here,  my 
cock-a-bendy.  I  ha'e  heard  tell  that  a'  the 
bestial  snack  at  ye,  an'  I  dinna  want  a  horse's 
teeth  in  my  loof." 

And,  leaving  the  two  intimates  to  talk  her 
over  at  their  leisure,  she  betook  herself  with 
her  pocketful  of  sugar  to  the  stables. 

Over-the-Moon  had  been  lately  put  into  a 
big  loose-box  to  himself,  about  twenty  yards 
from  the  main  stable,  with  an  enclosure  of 
grass  about  it,  and  a  running  stream  at  one 
end.  Joe  was  fitting  a  padlock  to  the  gate 
114 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

of  this  enclosure  when  AHson  appeared,  and 
Over-the-Moon's  arrowy  blue  head,  with  the 
white  diamond  on  its  front,  was  thrust  out  of 
the  open  door. 

Joe  stood  up  as  Alison  paused  beside  him, 
and  took  off  his  cap. 

"Joseph  Scott,"  said  she,  before  he  could 
bid  her  good-morning,  "in  what  like  does  a 
body  be  ceevil  to  a  horse.?" 

Joe  looked  at  her  with  circumspect  serious- 
ness, for  all  the  negroes  at  Oldwood  held  the 
old  housekeeper  in  great  respect  if  not  awe. 
It  was  well  known  that  Marse  Sidney's  wrath 
would  have  descended  heavily  upon  any  in- 
dividual, man,  woman,  or  child,  who  dared  to 
treat  her  unbecomingly. 

"You  mean  how  tub  git  frien's  wid  'em. 
Mis'  Stark?"  asked  he. 

"Ay,  juist  that,"  said  AHson.  "What  Hke 
is  yon  horse  to  deal  wi'  .?  How  will  I  be  best 
gi'ein'  him  a  bit  succar .?  Will  he  bite  at  me 
gin  I  go  near  him.'"' 

Alison  softened  her  Scotch  to  all  but  Mam- 
my Henny,  so  that  Joe  understood  her  well 
enough. 

"Nor'm,  he  ain'  gwine  bite  you,"  said  Joe. 
115 


T  R  I  X     AND    O  V  E  R-T  H  E-M  O  O  N 

**His  meanness  don'  come  out  dat-a-way. 
He  jes  ez  coaxin'  an'  lovin'  ez  a  good  baby  in 
he  stable.  He  jes  save  up,  look  like,  fur  when 
de  saddle's  top  uv  him.  Nor'm,  indeed,  don' 
you  be  skeered.  Jes  go  right  'long  in,  an' 
hole  up  de  sugar  on  yo'  pa'm — flat  out,  like 
dis"  —  he  illustrated  the  correct  manner  in 
which  to  bestow  sugar  on  horses,  and  held 
open  the  gate  for  her. 

The  tall,  grim  figure  in  its  black-and-white 
print  gown  passed  through,  and  with  an  ex- 
tended palm,  on  which  glistened  one  of  the 
white  morsels  that  Over-the-Moon  loved,  ap- 
proached his  box  slowly  but  steadily. 

"A  bonny  lamb  .  .  ."  said  Alison,  in  the 
voice  she  used  only  for  babies.  "A  bonny 
lamb  .  .  ."  and  then  she  "whussled"  softly  as 
she  had  done  to  the  "  ill-gi'en  "  bullock  so  many 
years  ago.  Over-the-Moon  reached  far  out 
his  beautiful  head  and  nickered  softly. 

"Ca'  canny,  man,  ca'  canny  .  .  ."  said  Ali- 
son, coming  nearer,  and  then,  after  "praying 
in"  a  bit,  she  reached  up  her  hand  and  felt 
the  soft  plush  of  the  round  muzzle  against  it, 
and  the  warm  breath  flowing  down  her  arm. 
The  roan  cracked  the  lump  daintily  to  pieces 
ii6 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

against  her  palm,  and  ate  them  bit  by  bit, 
and  she  never  winced.  And  then  as  the 
smooth  tongue  Hcked  and  Hcked  again  at  her 
sticky  fingers,  "Hech!  What  a  silken  tongue 
ye  ha'e,  my  mannie!"  cried  she,  in  surprise. 
"A  coo's  tongue  is  juist  a  rasp  an'  file  to  it." 

She  gave  him  another  lump,  and  he  ate  it  in 
the  same  way.  Then  she  ventured  to  stroke 
him  gently  on  the  nose.  He  started  back  a 
little,  but  came  forward  again  promptly,  and 
just  to  show  his  sporting  good-will,  caught  a 
fiDld  of  her  sleeve  between  his  lips  in  a  pre- 
tended bite.     She  stood  it  without  a  quaver. 

"Will  I  gi'e  ye  anither,  ye  daffin'  chiel  .f"' 
said  she.  "Wha'd  think  ye  waur  sic  a  kittle 
beast  to  back.  .  .  .  Dod!  but  ye're  a  bonny 
thing  tae  luik  at,  whatever." 

And  she  gave  him  a  third  lump,  which  he 
ate  with  as  much  gusto  as  the  first.  Then  she 
looked  him  in  "the  shine  o'  th'  ee,"  as  she  had 
done  once  before,  when  Joe  was  holding  him 
at  the  door,  but  this  time  she  gazed  long  and 
deep  and  at  her  leisure,  and  wondered  at  the 
dark-blue  depths  of  the  great  pupil  and  the 
length  of  the  lower  lashes. 

"Gude  save  us!  I  culd  knit  hosen  wi' 
117 


TRIX     AND    OVER-T  HE-MO  ON 

your  winkers,"  she  told  him.  "'Tis  an  unco' 
thing  tae  stan'  ee  to  ee  wi'  sic  a  beast.  Ye've 
a  singular  ee,  my  birky.  Thaur's  sumpairt 
drowned  deep  in  it,  like  a  bogle  in  a  well 
that  gars  me  dinnle  tae  my  backbane.  But 
ye've  michty  bonnie  ways  wi'  ye.  I'm  kennin' 
better  why  the  mistress  is  sae  daft  aboot  ye, 
sin'  I  ha'e  forgathered  wi'  ye  a  wee  my  ain 
sel'." 

She  gave  him  a  fourth  lump  of  sugar,  strok- 
ed his  front  again,  and  went  thoughtfully 
back  to  where  Joe  was  standing,  watching 
her. 

"Noo  I  want  the  straight  word,  Joseph 
Scott,"  said  she.  "Juist  hoo  dangeerous  do 
ye  think  yon  horse?" 

"Mis'  Stark,"  he  replied,  solemnly,  "I 
gwine  tell  you  de  Lawd's  trufe,  'case  I  sut'n'y 
is  troubled  in  my  min'  'bout  dat  very  thing, 
an'  mebbe  you  kin  holp  some.  .  .  .  But,  Mis' 
Stark,  ma'am  ...  I  sut'n'y  is  feared  dat  hawse 
gwine  kill  Miss  Trix  some  day.  'Tain't  so 
bad  now  .  .  .  but  when  she  try  to  git  him  'roun' 
a  show-ring,  deii  we  gwine  see  suppin'!  .  .  . 
Gre't  day!  .  .  .  Dat  hawse  gwine  try  tub  bre'k 
thoo  de  floor  uv  heaven  when  he  smell  all  dem 
118 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THK-MQON 

folkses  an'  hawses  an'  see  de  lights.  .  .  .  Dat's 
what  Fm  skeered  uv,  Mis'  Stark.  Dar's  a 
devul  in  dat  hawse,  fur  all  he  coaxin'  ways, 
an'  he  comin'  out  an'  kill  somebody  sho,  one 
er  dese  days.  Dyar — dat's  perzackly  what  I 
thinks." 

Alison  took  a  lump  of  sugar,  looked  at  it 
musingly  on  all  sides,  then  dropped  it  back 
into  her  pocket. 

"Dyar's  a  local  show  hyuh  in  August," 
Joe  announced,  "an'  she  say  she  gwine  try 
him  dyar  fust.  Den  in  Siptimber  she  lay 
she'll  tek  him  to  Cartersburg." 

"An'  you  think  it  vera  dangeerous  .^" 

"I  think  he  gwine  kill  her  dade,"  said  Joe. 
"Cyarn'  you  do  suppin',  Mis'  Stark,  ma'am  .f' 
Marse  Sidney  don'  know  nuthin'  'bout 
hawses  .  .  .  'scusin'  de  disrespeck  .  .  .  but  den 
he  don'  pertend  tuh.  An'  he  see  Miss  Trix 
ride  sech  a  chance  uv  wile  hawses  dat  he  don' 
see  de  difFunce  'twixt  a  real  devul  hawse  an' 
jes  a  coltish  one.  .  .  .  Please,  ma'am,  tu'n  yo' 
min'  tuh  hit.  We-all's  moughty  mizzuble 
'bout  hit  down  hyuh." 

"Ye  may  be  sure  that  I'll  dae  my  tapmaist," 
said  Alison;  "but  it's  a  dour  beeziness,  ony 
9  119 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MO  ON 

way  ye  glisk  at  it.  What  for  suld  she  be  sae 
set  on  showin'  this  ane,  an'  the  stable  fu'  o' 
ithers  wha  ken  the  wark  ?  Juist  Hsten  tae 
them  noo!  .  .  .  They're  sae  thrang  that  they 
mak'  mair  clamperin'  than  the  movin'  o'  a 
hoosefu'  o'  plenishment.  What  for  suld  she 
be  sae  set  for  this  ane  ? " 

"'Case  he  jes  'bout  de  fines'-lookin'  an' 
actin'  hawse  in  de  land  when  he  in  a  good- 
humor,"  said  Joe.  "I  be'n  to  a  heap  uv 
hawse  -  shows,  an'  I  don'  see  a  chance  uv 
hawses,  but  I  ain't  never  seen  one  tub  tech 
him,  Souf  or  Nawth." 

"Aweel,  aweel,"  said  Alison,  slowly,  "we 
maun  juist  bide  a  wee  an'  say  our  prayers 
ower  it.  .  .  .  An'  some  way  will  be  open't  i' 
th'  end,  I  hae  nae  doobt.  An'  I'll  juist  be 
comin'  tae  veesit  him  mysel'  frae  time  to  time. 
Ilka  ane  o'  us  maun  dae  his  pairt  tae  saft- 
in  the  de'il  that  has  his  dwallin'  in  that 
beast." 

"Yars'm- — sut'n'y,  ma'am,"  Joe  said,  cor- 
dially. "I  sut'n'y  will  be  pleasin'  tub  hev 
you  come." 

Alison  returned  to  the  house  in  a  brown- 
study,  and,  as  usual,  took  it  out  on  Mammy 
1 20 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MO  ON 

Henny,  who  was  prinking  before  a  little 
mirror  in  the  upper  hall,  having  put  the 
grandchild  to  bed  with  another  pickaninny 
to  watch  her,  and  being  now  attired  for 
church. 

"Henny  Miner,"  said  Alison,  folding  her 
arms  and  regarding  the  other  grimly,  "it 
gie's  me  the  wame-ill  tae  see  a  godly  body 
a'  dinket  oot  for  kirk  in  a  wheen  duds 
and  babs  o'  ribbon  wad  shame  a  potato- 
bogle." 

"Dun'no'  what  you  means,"  retorted  Mam- 
my. "You'd  better  not  brek  de  sabbath  all 
tub  pieces  quoilin'  wid  me,  nohow." 

"Why  canna'  ye  gae  tae  your  unco'  wair- 
ship  in  decent  black  like  a  Chreestian  body  .?" 
continued  Alison.  "Ye  luik  mair  like  ane 
prepaired  tae  bow  to  Auld  Whaup-Neb  him- 
sel'  than  tae  your  Makker,  in  a'  thae  whirli- 
gigums." 

"Ain't  onderstood  one  wud  ^Z,"  said 
Mammy,  composedly.  "Hit  sut'n'y  is  a 
savin'  uv  wrath  sometimes  dat  I  don'  tek  in 
mo'  uv'  yo'  tryin'  talk.  Why  ain'  you  r'ady 
fur  chu'ch  yo'se'f,  'stid  er  standin'  thar  pes- 
terin'  me  ?     You're  so  high-an'-mighty,  'on't 

121 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

nuvver  come  to  de  cullud-chu'ch,  but  got  tuh 
tail  off  arter  Marse  Sidney  an'  Miss  Trix 
tuh  de  Priscrypalians." 

"Woman,"  said  Alison,  "I'll  scunner  on 
my  deith-bed  wi'  the  terror  o'  that  ae  time 
that  I  ganged  wi'  ye  tae  what  ye  ca'  a  kirk 
an'  sat  amidst  the  clanjamfry  ye  ca'  a  con- 
gregation. My  thrapple  was  nigh  smoored 
wi'  the  reek  o't,  an'  my  lugs  sae  deaved  wi' 
the  screighin'  an'  skellochin'  that  an  engine- 
whussle  seemed  a  whisper  for  twa  weeks 
after." 

"I  takes  hit  you  means  you  don'  like  my 
chu'ch,"  said  Mammy  Henny,  with  great 
good-humor.  "Well,  /  don'  keer!  You  an' 
de  Lawd  kin  set-tie  dat  'twixt  yo'se'ves.  But 
tell  you  one  thing,  hit  sut'n'y  does  seems 
strange  tuh  me  how  a  hard  Pezbytarian  like 
you  kin  go  turrer  Priscrypalian  chu'ch  tuh 
wuship." 

"Sin'  the  Laird  Beeshop  o'  Virgeenia  ha'e 
pit  his  fit  doon  aboot  the  papery  o'  flowers 
on  the  altar,  thaur  isna'  sae  muckle  differ 
'twixt  the  twa,"  said  Alison.  "But  ye 
Blackymore  Bapteests,  that  gae  slorkin' 
aboot  in   a   hit  burn  sae  thick  wi'   red   clay 

122 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 


'tis  like  paidlin'  in  taematae-bree  .  .  .  an' 
think  ye're  wash't  frae  sin  when  ye  come 
oot  .  .  .  what  suld  ye  know  aboot  ony  decent 
manner  o'  wairship  whatever  ?  .  .  .  I  doubtna' 
that  ye  began  your  bapteezin'  fidishness  wi' 
the  hope  that  some  o'  th'  black  on  your  hides 
wad  come  aff  wi'  the  sins." 

''Gwan!  Gwan!  Dat's  right!  .  .  .  See 
what  you  kin  say  'g'inst  e'v'y  body  but  yo' 
own  pizen  se'f!"  cried  Mammy,  who  had 
taken  in  quite  enough  of  this  to  be  in  a  tower- 
ing passion.  '"Buse  my  chuc'h  much  ez 
you  likes!  Cyarn'  nobordy  stop  you,  lessin' 
dey  tuck  de  tongs  an'  wrinch  yo'  tongue 
outer  yo'  jaws.  All  /  knows  is,  dat  yo'  ole 
Nomeration  ain't  got  'nufF  money  tub  build 
a  chuc'h  in  dis  naberhood,  an'  mine  is!  Dat 
actin'  talk  heap  louder  dan  a  chance  o'  yo' 
low-lifeted  Scotch  wuds,  what  must  pain  yo' 
jaws  gittin'  out!     So  dyar!" 

Alison  had  so  little  defence  to  make  to 
this  that  she  sheltered  behind  a  scathing 
allusion  to  negro  morals. 

"Hoots!"   said   she.     "The    carlin's   in    a 
creel!  .  .  .  But  wi'  a'  your  sae-ca'd  kirk-gangin', 
ye're  nane  sae  parteekular  aboot  gae'n  thaur 
123 


TRIX     AND    QVER-T  HE-MOON 

for  waddins.  A'  ye  Blackymores  ha'e  mairrit 
in  an  owre-boggie  fashion — by  my  way  o'  t— 
An'  ye'll  be  unco'  late  gin  ye  stand  thaur 
jaundering  ony  langer,  or  bide  to  clapper- 
claw me,  whilk  ye  luik  muckle  mindit  tae 
dae.  Awa'  wi'  ye  afore  ye  burst  wi'  rage! 
Gae  hunt  the  gowk  a'  the  way  to  yon  barn 
ye  misca'  a  kirk.  Ablins  ye'll  find  him  i' 
the  pulpeet!" 

"I'se  a  Chrischun,  /  is,"  stammered  Mam- 
my, shaking  all  over  in  her  desperate  clutch 
at  self-control.  "I  gwine  right  stret  along 
an'  pray  fuh  you  .  .  .  you  po'  whopper- 
jawed  ole  Satan  .  .  .  'case  you  needs  hit, 
Jeeze   he  knows!" 

"By  the  luik  o'  ye,"  said  Alison,  coolly, 
observing  her  with  deliberation,  "it's  mair  a 
ban  than  a  bleesin'  ye'll  be  pittin'  on  me. 
Sae  be  carefu  in  whilk  Jeerection  ye  send 
your  peteettons,  Henny  Miner!" 

And  then,  when  all  had  gone  to  church 
and  the  house  was  empty,  Alison,  who  never 
did  anything  without  well-weighed  reasons, 
and  who  would  certainly  not  have  stayed 
away  from  "kirk"  except  on  some  very  par- 
ticular occasion,  went  down  into  Trix's  room 

124 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOQN 

and  possessed  herself  of  two  thick  volumes 
by  Stonehenge  on  the  horse. 

These  she  took  to  her  room  and  studied 
with  absorbed  interest,  until  the  sound  of 
carriage  wheels  on  the  gravel  warned  her  that 
it  was  time  to  put  them  back. 


XI 


THE  early  summer  passed  by  unevent- 
fully, except  for  the  education  of  Over- 
the-Moon,  which  progressed  at  times  some- 
what after  the  fashion  of  the  frog  in  the  well — 
one  step  forward  in  good  behavior  and  two 
back.  Once  he  had  jammed  Joe's  leg  quite 
savagely  against  the  fence  at  the  riding-school 
in  a  sudden  bolt,  and  once  he  had  reared  so 
at  a  jump  with  Trix  that  Joe  had  mounted 
him  after  she  got  off,  and  pulled  him  over, 
which  made  him  a  much  soberer  nag  for  at 
least  a  week.  Strangest  of  all,  however,  in 
the  career  of  Over-the-Moon,  was  the  ex- 
traordinary friendship  which  grew  up  between 
him  and  Alison.  He  would  nicker  when  he 
saw  her  coming,  as  he  did  not  nicker  even 
for  Trix,  who  petted  him  a  good  deal,  and 
it  was  a  quaint  and  somehow  a  touching 
sight  to  see  the  grim  old  Scotchwoman 
126 


WALKING     SEDATELY     ALONG     WHERE     THE     GRASS     GREW     THICKEST 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

walking  sedately  along  the  garden  terraces, 
where  the  grass  grew  thickest  and  juiciest, 
with  the  beautiful  horse  at  the  end  of  a  lung- 
ing rein,  he  pretending  to  nip  and  strike  at 
her,  and  she  pretending  to  scold  him  in  the 
tender,  teasing  terms  that  she  had  used  to 
Sidney  when  he  was  a  wee  laddie. 

The  roan  would  come  to  her  whistle  when 
he  would  come  to  no  one  else,  and  never  tried 
to  break  away,  as  he  did  from  the  others,  when 
she  had  him  on  the  lunging-rein.  In  a  word, 
it  was  the  old  story  of  the  "ill-gi'en"  bullock 
over  again. 

"How  did  you  ever  come  to  get  up  the  cour- 
age, Alison.?"  laughed  Trix  one  day,  leaning 
over  the  garden  fence  and  watching  her,  as 
she  walked  beside  the  roan,  with  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  while  he  tore  up  crackling  mouth- 
fuls  of  the  new  grass  that  a  heavy  shower  had 
brought  out. 

"Nane  mair  surprisit  than  mysel',  ma'am," 
answered  Alison,  thoughtfully.  "It  minds 
me  o'  the  pairrit  that  Jamie  brocht  me  frae  the 
Indies  ane  time.  When  first  I  glisked  at  the 
neb  o'  the  fowl,  I  thocht  I  wad  hae  tae  be 
happit  in  armor  afore  I  would  pit  a  finger  tae 
127 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOOX 

him.  .  .  .  And  I  wad  gae  a  muckle  round  out  o' 
my  way  gin  I  had  to  pass  him.  But  ane  day 
he  waur  screighin'  for  a  sweetie,  an'  nane  ben 
the  hoose  savin'  me.  .  .  .  Sae  I  endit  by  gie'n 
it  tae  him,  an'  my  hairt  duntin'  sae  hard  on 
my  breest-bane  I  thocht  it  wad  a  frichtit  him. 
But  na;  he  juist  tuik  the  sweetie  in  a  wiffin,  as 
douce  as  micht  be,  and  sune  he  clamered  on 
my  shoother  an'  I  let  him  bide  thaur,  though 
he  piked  at  my  ear  wi'  that  fleysome  neb  o' 
his  .  .  .  and  aye  afterward  we  waur  Hke  twa 
joes  thegither.  .  .  .  'Tis  an  unco'  thing  how 
'twill  saftin  the  hairt  tae  dae  a  kindness  to 
ony  thing  or  body.  .  .  .  Gin  a  woman  culd 
nurse  a'  her  enemies  through  a  sickness,  she'd 
hae  nae  mair,  by  her  way  o't  when  they  had 
won  through  tae  health  again.  .  .  .  Ye  see,  it 
a'  began,  ma'am,  by  a  bit  succar  I  gi'ed  him 
ane  Sabbaith  morn." 

And  she  related  to  Trix  her  first  encounter 
with  Over-the-Moon. 

"It's  downright  touching  to  see  them  to- 
gether, Sidney,"  said  Trix,  that  evening. 
"She's  a  real  old  brick  .  .  .  made  with  straw  of 
the  best,  too.  ...  I  'clare  I  didn't  know  she 
had  it  in  her.  And  she  was  so  unreasonable 
128 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

about  him  and  my  riding  him  at  first.  I 
nearly  lost  my  temper  and  ordered  her  out  of 
the  room.  Why  do  you  suppose  she  began 
it.?" 

"Dear  old  Ailie  is  the  salt  of  the  earth," 
said  Sidney.  "I  don't  doubt  that  she  thought 
that  since  you  ivould  ride  him,  she'd  do  all  in 
her  power  to  tame  him  as  much  as  possible." 

"Well,  I'll  never  forget  it,"  Trix  answered, 
much  impressed.  "The  very  first  ribbon  he 
wins  I'll  make  her  a  lovely  present  in  his 
name." 

Fate  was  very  kind  to  Alison  in  those  days. 
Every  opportunity  that  she  desired  seemed  to 
come  to  her  of  its  own  accord,  and  so  one  even- 
ing she  was  not  surprised  to  hear  her  master's 
voice  at  her  door  saying,  in  the  broad  Scotch 
that  he  had  learned  as  a  baby,  and  that  he 
delighted  her  by  using  for  a  phrase  or  two  on 
rare  occasions:  "Are  ye  thaur,  Ailie .?  I  ha'e 
come  for  a  bit  crack  wi'  ye." 

She  had  taken  this  chance  to  tell  him  all 
her  fears  about  Trix,  and  to  plead  with  him 
to  keep  her  from  riding  Over-the-Moon  in  a 
show-ring. 

"Don't  worry,  my  dear  soul,"  he  had  said, 
129 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MO  ON 

kindly.  "I've  been  trying  to  persuade  her 
already  that  she  must  let  such  things  slip  for 
this  autumn.  She  hasn't  promised  exactly, 
but  then  I  know  her.  ...  I  think  she'll  come 
round.  This  affair  at  Ivytown  in  August  is  a 
small  thing  .  .  .  though  I  don't  want  her  to 
ride  there,  either  .  .  ." 

"Ay,  dinna  ye  dae  it,  Maister  Seedney; 
dinna  ye  lend  yaur  face  tae  it!  Joseph  Scott 
hae  telled  me  that  'twad  be  deith  fur  her  tae 
ride  him  in  ony  o'  the  show-rings.  He's  an 
unco'  beast,  Maister  Seedney.  Sae  douce  an' 
seelfu'  on  the  leadin'-rein,  an'  sic  a  warlock 
under  leather.  .  .  .  Thaur's  sumpairt  no  canny 
aboot  him.  .  .  .  Gude  forgie  me,  but  I  hae 
thocht  a  bogle  gets  on  him  wi'  the  saddle.  .  .  . 
Dinna  ye  let  her  ride  him  in  ony  horse-show, 
my  ain  laddie.  Talk  wi'  Joseph  Scott.  Din- 
na ye  let  her  do't  ..." 

The  result  was  that  Sidney  did  talk  with 
Joe,  and  afterward  with  Trix,  to  her  intense 
disgust  and  indignation.  She  took  the  bit 
in  her  small  teeth,  metaphorically  speaking, 
stiffened  her  pretty  neck  like  iron,  and  refused 
to  make  a  single  promise. 

"Can't  you  trust  me  at  least  to  have  horse 
130 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

sense,  Sidney?"  she  asked,  as  he  urged  and 
pleaded,  exhorted  and  scolded  by  turns. 
"Since  when  have  you  thought  that  a  negro 
boy  and  an  old  Scotchwoman  of  seventy  know 
more  about  horses  than  I  do  ?  You  may  be 
quite  sure  that  I  shall  do  nothing  foolish,  but 
beyond  that  I  won't  promise  you  anything.". 

Sidney  longed  for  the  days  when  contuma- 
cious wives  could  be  put  under  lock  and  key. 

"But  see  here,  Trix,"  he  pleaded.  "You 
know  I've  got  to  go  on  to  New  York  to  see 
those  publishers  about  my  novel  on  the  third, 
and  I  shall  be  utterly  wretched  the  whole  time, 
picturing  you  smashed  up  by  that  brute. 
Why  won't  you  wait  until  I  come  back,  at 
least  ?  Of  course,  I  know  you  are  a  thousand 
times  a  better  judge  of  a  horse  than  Joe  Scott, 
but  all  the  same  it  made  my  blood  run  cold  to 
hear  him  talk  .  .  ." 

" Good  heavens,  Sidney !  You'd  have  icicles 
in  your  blood  in  midsummer  if  you  listened 
to  Joe  about  every  fractious  horse  that  I  ride. 
There's  Gleam,  now  —  that  thoroughbred 
hunter — don't  you  remember  how  he  frighten- 
ed you  out  of  your  wits  the  first  hunt  I  ever 
took  her  on.?  Do  be  sensible,  Sidney!  You 
131 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

spoil  my  pleasure — and  I'm  looking  forward 
so  to  my  first  venture  in  a  show-ring  with 
Over-the-Moon." 

*'But,  Trix  darling  ...  as  you  are  now  .  .  ." 

"Sidney,  Sidney!  .  .  .  Don't  you  remember 
I  was  riding  later  than  this  before  Tim  was 
born.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  do  wish  you'd  stick  to  the 
things  you  know  about,  Sidney,  and  not  run 
me  wild  just  when  my  nerves  ought  to  be 
quietest." 

"I  don't  mean  to  nag  you,  Trix,"  said  he, 
dreadfully  perplexed.  "But  upon  my  honor 
I  can't  post  off  to  New  York,  and  leave  you, 
thinking  that  you  may  have  your  neck  or  your 
back  broken  at  Ivytown.  ...  If  you'd  only 
wait  until  I  come  back.  .  .  .  This  business  mat- 
ter is  so  important  for  us  both  that  I  really 
ought  to  go.  .  .  .  But  if  you'll  just  put  this 
off,  I  won't  say  a  word  about  Cartersburg 
if  you  really  tell  me  that  it's  not  danger- 
ous. 

"Well  .  .  ."  said  Trix,  unwillingly,  "I  won't 
promise  exactly  .  .  .  but  I  think  you  can 
about  consider  it  settled  that  I'll  wait  for 
Cartersburg." 

So  Sidney  joyfully  went  to  carry  this  good 
132 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

news  to  Alison,  and  the  next  day  left  at  noon 
for  New  York. 

"Ride?  'Cose  she  gwine  ride,"  said  Joe, 
when  Alison  consulted  him  as  to  his  opinion 
on  the  subject.  "Ef  she  ain'  mek  no  sot-an'- 
fast  promise,  she  gwine  ride  ef  she  kill  her- 
se'f  an'  de  hawse  too.  Dat's  Miss  Trix.  I'se 
done  growed  up  wid  her  .  .  .  played  wid  her 
when  she  wa'n't  knee-high  turrer  duck  .  .  .  an' 
'ceptin'  you  git  a  solid  promise  outer  her  .  .  . 
she  gwine  do  her  way,  spite  er  Gawd  or  de 
devul!" 

"An'  you  maist  solemnly  assure  me,  Joseph 
Scott,  that  'twill  mean  her  deith  gin  she  does 
it.?" 

"I  tell  you.  Mis'  Stark,  like  I  was  squar'  in 
front  uv  der  Jedgment  Seat — an'  Peter  got  he 
han'  on  my  shoulder — I  tells  you  .  .  .  ef  Miss 
Trix  try  to  git  dat  roan  roun'  a  show-ring,  she 
comin'  home  foots  fo'most.  An'  I  knows  sup- 
pin'  'bout  hawses  same  ez  Miss  Trix,  do'  she 
ain'  'lowin'  dat  nobody  know  much  'bout  'em 
'scusin'  uv  herse'f." 

"Weel,  Gude  guide  us  a',"  said  Alison, 
slowly,  looking  past  him,  with  that  eerie  gaze 
133 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

that  seemed  to  see  something  from  the  future 
forming  itself  upon  the  empty  air.  "I  beheve 
ye're  an  upricht,  honest  lad,  Joseph  Scott,  an' 
I  thank  ye  for  tellin'  me  the  bare  truth.  Noo 
it's  juist  i'  th'  hands  o'  Gude  an'  them  He 
chooses  tae  dae  His  wark." 

A  week  later,  when  Alison  was  sitting  in 
the  laundry  door  as  usual,  with  her  knitting, 
while  Mammy  Henny  ironed,  Joe  came,  a  very 
troubled  look  on  his  face,  and  said,  "  Mis' 
Stark,  ma'am,  I  hates  tub  'sturb  you,  but  will 
you  please  gimme  some  er  dat  moniak 
med'cine  what  holps  people  when  dey  nerves 
is  upsot." 

"Hech!  What's  meddled  your  nairves, 
Joseph  Scott  ?     Ye  look  unco'  composit  for  a 


nairvous  man 


Tain't  me,"  said  Joe,  gloomily;  **'tis  dat 
po'  leetle  Ashton.  He  down  dyar  at  de 
stable  cryin'  like  a  baby.  .  .  .  Hit's  dat  ravin'- 
mad  hawse  agin.  Mis'  Stark." 

Alison  rolled  up  her  knitting  and  put  it  in 
her  pocket. 

"What's  he  dune  the  noo.?"  she  said,  get- 
ting to  her  feet. 

134 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"Wellum,"  said  Joe,  "you  sees,  Ashton  he 
moughty  keerless  'bout  puttin'  on  he  saddle. 
I'se  alluz  arter  him  'bout  hit.  An'  'twuz  his 
tu'n  tub  ride  de  roan  back  from  the  Mill, 
Well,  he  come  'long  all  right  twell  we  git  tub 
de  big  kitalpin  tree,  and  den  Ashton's  saddle 
tu'n,  and  whilst  he  wuz  on  de  groun'  dat  devul 
strike  at  him  twicet  an'  squeal  like  a  boar 
peeg.  He  ain't  done  dat  furrer  long  time 
now,  an'  Miss  Trix  she  say  he  war  jes  frighten- 
ed wid  Ashton  comin'  plop  onder  he  foots  like 
dat.  But  we-all  knows  better.  I  tell  you- 
all,"  went  on  Joe,  with  ever-growing  gloom, 
"Miss  Trix  kin  talk  twell  she  bust  .  .  .  but  ef 
dat  hawse  come  down  wid  her  in  de  ring  he 
gwine  savage  her  sho'.  .  .  .  An'  she  done  give 
us  our  orders  fuh  Ivytown  dis  vehy  evenin'." 

"For  Ivytown.?  .  .  ,  For  the  horse-show.?" 
asked  Alison. 

"Yease'm — fur  de  hawse-show.  I  dun  tell 
you  how  it  gwine  be,  ain't  I  now  ?  .  .  .  She 
wuz  jes  pullin'  de  wool  a  leetle  over  Marse 
Sidney's  eyes,  so's  he  c'u'd  go  on  easy  an' 
comf 'tubble  -  like  tub  New  Yawk,  an'  not 
pester  her  no  more." 

"An'  when  will  she  be  gaein' .?"  said  Alison. 
135 


TRIX    AND    QVER-THE-MQON 

"She  lay  out  tub  git  off  to-morrer  'bout  live 
o'clock  in  de  mawnin'.  We-all  gwine  ride 
up  dyar,  an'  Ashton  be  gwine  tek  de  runa- 
bout." 

"Aw,  Mis'  Stark!  Mis'  Stark!"  cried 
Mammy,  clutching  at  her  headkerchief  with 
both  hands.  "Cyarn'  you  do  sumpin'  t  .  .  . 
Cyarn'  wobordy  do  sumpin'  1  My  baby 
gwine  git  kilt!  .  .  .  My  po'  baby  gwine  git  kilt 
dade!" 

And  she  fell  on  her  knees  by  the  ironing- 
board  and  buried  her  face  in  the  pile  of  Trix's 
underlinen  that  she  had  been  at  work  on. 

'*Eh,  Henny  Miner,"  said  Alison,  laying  a 
hand  on  the  shaking  shoulders.  "Ca'  some 
o'  the  Bible  weesdom  tae  mind.  .  .  .  Ye're  aye 
gettin'  blads  o'  it  by  hairt.  .  .  .  Dinna  greet  like 
a  bairn  afore  aught's  happen't  ye.  Gin  ye 
canna  reca'  onything  tae  yaur  comfort,  I'll 
e'en  mind  ye  o'  a  vairse  that  hae  brocht  me 
muckle  consolation  i'  my  day  .  .  .  '  By  His  help 
I  hae  lowped  ower  a  wa'.'  .  .  .  The  wa'  is  afore 
us,  high  an'  braid,  but  by  His  help  we'll  lowp 
ower  it.  .  .  .  An'  noo  come  wi'  me,  Joseph 
Scott,  an'  I'll  gie  ye  the  physic  for  yon  puir 
lad." 

136 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

Mammy  wiped  her  eyes  on  one  of  Trix's 
underbodies  and  sat  down,  catching  her 
breath  in  great  gulps  hke  a  child  that  has 
been  sobbing,  to  wait  for  Alison's  return. 

She  came  back  in  about  twenty  minutes 
with  a  little  bundle  in  her  hand,  wrapped  in 
a  bit  of  white  silk.  "I  hae  happit  yon  puir 
gowkie's  shank  wi'  some  auld  linen,"  said  she. 
"For  a  gowk  he  is  tae  pit  a  saddle  on  siccan  a 
beast  wi'oot  prayin'  ower  ilka  buckle.  He's 
mair  frichtit  than  hurt.  An'  noo  I'll  juist  be 
askin'  the  loan  o'  your  ironin'-board,  Henny 
Miner.  Ye're  in  nae  state  tae  fettle  tae  ony 
wairk,  an'  I  hae  lang  intendit  tae  dae  a  bit 
ironin'  mysel'  .  .  ." 

She  took  an  iron  from  the  fire,  tested  it  with 
a  moist  finger,  set  it  on  the  stand,  and  began 
to  untie  the  little  parcel. 

Mammy  Henny  was  quite  roused  from  her 
despair  by  the  array  of  dainty  articles,  all  fine 
cambric,  real  lace,  and  microscopic  stitches, 
that  were  soon  spread  upon  the  ironing-board. 

"De  Lawd  sakes!"  she  exclaimed,  taking 
one  in  her  pointed  brown  fingers  and  examin- 
ing it  with  delighted  curiosity.  "Wha'd  you 
git  dese  hyah.  Mis'  Stark  }  .  .  .  Miss  Trix  ain't 
^37 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 


done    hed    nuttin'    like    'em    when    she    was 
mah'ied." 

"  I  made  'em  mysel',"  said  AHson,  shortly. 

"Lawsie!"  cried  Mammy,  with  increased 
admiration.  "/  didn'  know  you  c'u'd  sew  like 
dat.  You  sho'  is  smart,  Mis'  Stark.  Dey're 
de  cutes'  things  I  ever  seed  in  my  bawn  days. 
Miss  Trix  '11  hev  a  kerniption  over  'em,  I 
reckon." 

"They're  na  sae  braw  as  a'  that,"  said  Ali- 
son, beginning  to  press  them  gingerly,  with 
deft  and  knowing  turns  of  her  bony  wrist,  but 
with  a  certain  pleased  note  in  the  voice  that  the 
sympathetic  old  negress  instantly  detected. 

"Yease,  dey  is,"  she  said,  generously. 
"Dey's  de  purtiest  baby-clo'es  ever  /  light  on, 
an'  I'se  seen  a  heap  in  my  life,  too." 

When  they  were  all  as  smooth  as  little  snow- 
wreaths,  Alison  folded  them  again  in  the  white 
silk  and  went  toward  the  door. 

"I'll  tak'  it  kindly  o'  ye,  Henny  Miner," 
said  she,  "gin  ye'll  come  tae  my  cham'er  in 
an  hour's  time." 

Mammy's  jaw  fell  childishly  at  this  civil 
address,  but  she  hastened  to  answer,  rather 
apprehensively: 

138 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"Dat  I  will  ...  I  sholy  will,  Mis'  Stark." 

"Now  what  you  reckon  she  got  in  pickle 
fuh  me  (lis  time  ?"  she  asked  of  the  surround- 
ing furniture,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  powerful, 
gaunt  figure  as  it  moved  toward  the  house. 

Alison  went  straight  to  Trix's  door  and 
knocked.  A  worried  voice  with  some  irrita- 
tion in  it  said,  "Come  in,"  and  she  entered  to 
find  Trix  perched  among  a  mass  of  papers  at 
her  writing-desk,  in  the  little  shabby  blue 
dressing-gown  that  she  always  wore  when 
hard  work  was  ahead  of  her. 

"Oh  ...  is  that  you,  Alison  .'"'  said  she,  in 
another  tone.  "  I  thought  it  was  one  of  those 
silly  stable-boys  come  to  bother  me  again. 
What  do  you  want .?  .  .  .  Can  it  wait  ?  .  .  .  I'm 
dreadfully  busy  now  ...  all  these  bills  to  get 
straight  and  farm-hands  to  pay  before  leaving 
to-morrow  .  .  ." 

"Ye're  juist  bent  on  gaein',  then,  ma'am  .?" 
said  Alison,  in  a  very  gentle  voice  for  her. 
"Ye  winna  think  it  ower  a  wee  V 

Trix's  mouth  went  into  a  little  hard  red 

circle   that   meant   immovable   determination 

with  her,   and   she   shook  her  head   slightly, 

looking  sidewise  down  at  the  papers  under 

139 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

her  hand,  as  though  anxious  to  get  at  them 
again. 

"Ye  winna  let  e'en  this  coax  ye  frae  it?" 
said  AHson,  still  more  gently,  even  timidly,  and 
laid  the  little  bundle  among  the  heaped  papers. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Trix,  frowning.  "Is 
it  for  me  ? " 

"Ay,  for  ye,  ma'am  .  .  .  juist  a  bit  giftie  for 
the  bairn  that's  comin'.  'Tis  naethin'  in 
itsel'  .  .  .  but  I  hae  pit  some  bonny  thochts 
for  ye  twa  intae  the  steetches  .  .  ." 

Trix's  face  relaxed  .  .  .  softened  .  .  .  grew 
very  gentle  when  she  had  untied  the  silk  and 
saw  before  her  the  little  elfin  garments. 

"That  was  a  dear  thing  for  you  to  do, 
Ailie,"  said  she,  calling  her  so  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life.  "You  knitted  me  a  lovely 
blanket  for  Tim,  I  remember,  but  it  wasn't 
near  as  beautiful  as  these.  ...  I  do  think  it 
was  perfectly  dear  of  you.  Thank  you  a 
thousand  times,  Ailie." 

And  she  put  out  one  inky  little  hand  and 
grasped  the  old  woman's  hard. 

Alison's  face  quivered  for  a  second,  like 
shaken  water,  but  the  next  moment  it  was 
as  composed  as  ever. 

140 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"An'  ye  winna  let  them  spier  at  ye,  to  bide 
awa'  frae  the  horse-show  :  .  .  .  Eh !  My  dear 
leddy,  tae  reesk  twa  hves.  .  .  .  Will  ye  no  think 
on  it  a  wee  bit  langer  ?  .  .  .  'Til  the  maister 
wins  back  frae  town  .  .  .  juist  till  then.  ...  I 
wadna  trouble  ye  .  .  .  but,  oh,  I'd  gi'e  the  last 
drap  i'  my  veins  to  baud  ye  back  .  .  ." 

Trix's  mouth  had  set  again  in  that  small 
ring.  She  took  the  little  articles  in  her  hand 
and  got  down  from  her  tall  chair. 

"Alison,"  she  said,  "I  wouldn't  hurt  your 
feelings  for  anything — I'm  too  touched  and 
grateful  to  you  about  these  lovely  things  .  .  . 
but  I've  a  great  deal  to  do,  and  my  mind's 
quite  made  up.  So  now,  will  you  please  go, 
for  it's  nearly  four  o'clock,  and  I  must  have  all 
these  checks  signed  by  five.  You  understand, 
Alison — I  don't  mean  to  be  cross.  It's  just 
that  there's  no  use  whatever  in  talking,  and 
I've  got  to  get  through  with  this  work.  I 
thank  you  again  and  again  for  your  thought 
of  me  and  mine  .  .  .  for  all  your  thoughts  of  us. 
.  .  .  Now  please  go,  and  let  me  get  back  to 
work." 

"Aweel,  ma'am,"  said  Alison,  still  with  the 
utmost  gentleness,  "I  hae  dune  my  tapmaist, 
141 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

.  .  .  Gin  onything  suld  happen,  wad  ye  mind 
sayin'  as  much  tae  the  maister?" 

"No  .  .  .  no,  indeed.  .  .  .  Certainly  I  will 
...  I  promise  you,"  said  Trix,  hurriedly,  and 
hastened  to  shut  and  lock  the  door  after  her. 


i 


XII 

MAMMY  HENNY'S  apprehensions  in- 
creased as  she  neared  AHson's  room. 
She  racked  her  brain  in  vain  to  think  of 
something  that  she  had  done  or  left  undone 
to  earn  her  a  lecture  from  her  dearest  foe; 
but  it  was  with  a  very  sober  face  and  sub- 
dued manner  that  she  knocked  finally  at 
the  shut  door. 

After  a  moment's  pause  the  key  turned  on 
the  inside,  and  Alison  stood  before  her,  with 
the  door-knob  in  her  hand. 

"Eh,  is  it  you,  Ilenny  Miner.?"  said  she. 
"I  was  juist  reddin'  up  my  room  a  wee.  The 
hour's  by  sax  meenits,  but  ye're  no  kenspeckle 
for  promptness  at  ony  time." 

"De  la'ndry  clock's  slow,  Mis'  Stark,"  said 

Mammy,  meekly.     "I  sut'n'y  is  be'n  watchin' 

it  tub  be  on  time.     What  you  want  wid  me, 

annyhow.  Mis'   Stark  ?     I  sho'  is  be'n  wuk- 

143 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

kin'    my   hade    sump'n    turr'ble   tuh    mek   it 
out. 

Alison  permitted  herself  one  of  her  grim 
smiles. 

"Ye  look  fair  frichtit,  puir  sowl,"  said  she. 
"Am  I  sae  thrawn  as  a'  that .?  .  .  .  Here,  set  ye 
doon.  .  .  .  I'm  in  a  gi'ein'  humor  the  day, 
Henny  Miner,  an'  I  hae  mindit  me  o'  a  braw 
black  manty,  as  guid  as  new,  that  I  ha'e  nae 
need  for.  'Twould  fit  ye  fine,  an'  I  ha'e  a 
sair  langin'  tae  see  ye  gang  tae  kirk  afore  I 
dee  drest  in  guid,  honest  black,  like  a  decent 
body." 

Mammy  Henny  watched  her  with  saucer- 
eyes  while  she  took  from  manifold  wrap- 
pings of  blue  tissue-paper  a  long  mantle  of 
black  grogram  silk,  set  about  the  sleeves, 
breast,  and  neck  with  that  grisly  trimming 
known  as  "black  bugles." 

"Lor',  Mis'  Stark!"  gasped  she,  "you  sho' 
ain'  meanin'  dat  fur  me?" 

"Dinna  stan'  thaur  hecklin'  wi'  guid  luck, 
but  juist  pit  your  airms  tae  these  airmhales, 
afore  I  tire  of  haudin'  up  my  ain,"  said  Alison, 
standing  with  the  garment  extended  at  arm's- 
length. 

144 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"  Jeeze,  Mis'  Stark,"  said  Mammy,  as  she 
wormed  her  great  arms  into  the  arm-holes 
that  had  been  cut  for  the  spare  AHson  years 
ago,  "  I  cyarn'  mek  out  what  is  be'n  come  over 
you  tuh-day!  Givin'  me  dis  makernifercint 
gyarmint,  an'  talkin'  so's  I  kin  onderstan' 
you  .  .  .  an'  .  .  .  an'  .  .  .  actin'  like  anybordy 
else.  ...  I  'clar'  'fo'  Gawd  ...  I  sut'n'y  c'u'd 
like  you  ef  you  kep'  on  dis-a-way." 

"Henny  Miner,"  said  Alison,  sharply, 
rendered  apprehensive  by  a  look  in  the  other's 
great,  soft,  sentimental  eyes,  "dinna  ye  daur 
tae  kiss  me!  ...  I  cudna  thole  it  .  .  ." 

"Who's  thinkin'  o'  kissin'  you.?"  asked 
Mammy,  wrathful  in  a  moment.  "I'd  just 
as  soon  think  a  kissin'  a  hoe-cake!  .  .  .  Hyuh! 
Take  dis  hyah  thing  off'n  me.  .  .  .  /  don't 
want  hit!" 

"Na,  na.  .  .  .  Ca'  canny,  woman,  ca'  canny 
.  .  ."  said  Alison,  in  a  deep  growl,  meant  to 
be  soothing.  "I  didna  mean  to  anger  ye 
.  .  .  but  a'  Scotch  bodies  .  .  .  savin'  the  lads 
an'  lasses  .  .  .  ha'e  a  muckle  laith  for  the 
kissin'.  1  ha'e  na  kiss't  my  ain  feyther  for 
thretty  year  .  .  .  an'  the  maister  sen's  me  tae 
Scotlan'  ilka  twa  years,  as  weel  ye  ken." 
H5 


TRIX    AND    OVER-T  HE-MO  ON 

"Well,  den  .  .  ."  said  Mammy,  mollified, 
swelling  her  "  bugled  "  bust  and  "  rarin' "  back, 
as  she  expressed  it,  before  the  little  glass  on  top 
of  AHson's  chest  of  drawers,  in  order  to  see 
as  much  as  possible  of  her  "makernificently" 
clad  proportions,  "ef  dat's  de  way  uv  it  .  .  . 
Dat  meks  all  de  diffunce  ef  kissin'  goes 
ag'inst  you-all  so  pow'ful.  .  .  .  Gre't  day!  .  .  . 
Ain'  I  suppin'  in  dis  hyuh  gran'  mantle,  do'! 
Whoo-t'^/  I  tell  you  dem  po'  free  niggers 
gwine  tek  de  back  seats  when  /  go  tub  chu'ch 
nex'  Sunday!  Mis'  Stark — lemme  kiss  you — 
jes  oncet!" 

And  she  extended  both  "bugled"  arms  in 
Alison's  direction. 

"Na,  na  .  .  ."  cried  the  other,  springing  back 
with  a  look  of  real  terror  on  her  face.  "I 
daur  ye  do  it!  .  .  .  Gin  ye  even  try  tae  .  .  .  I'll 
gie  ye  that  '11  gar  ye  lowp  for  it!" 

"All  right.  ...  All  right  .  .  ."  said  Mammy, 
retiring  at  once.  .  .  .  "'Twa'n't  dat  I  wanted 
tub  kiss  you.  ...  I  jes  wanted  tub  thank  you  ..." 

"Thank  me  wi'  your  tongue  an'  not  wi' 
your  mou',  then,"  said  Alison,  with  all  her 
usual  grimness,  "or  I'll  gie  ye  a  sark  fu'  o' 
sair  banes." 

J  46 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

"Now  you'se  driftin'  back  inter  dat  lang- 
widge  don'  nobordy  onderstan',''  said  Mam- 
my, helplessly.  "'Spec'  I'd  better  be  gwine. 
.  .  .  Duz  you  reely  mean  fur  me  tub  tek  dis 
'long  o'  me,  Mis'  Stark?" 

"Ay,"  said  Alison.  And  then  shamefacedly 
extending  a  stern  arm  with  the  graciousness 
of  a  pump-handle:  "Here's  a  bit  gowdy  I  ha'e 
tirit  o'.  .  .  .  Ye  can  pit  it  tae  your  collar  on  a 
Sunday.  .  .  .  Na  .  .  .  dinna  thank  me,"  she 
broke  off  sharply,  as  Mammy  exploded  with 
profuse  exclamations  of  joy  and  wonder  over 
the  little  brooch,  the  unusual  sentimentality 
of  the  situation  becoming  suddenly  more  than 
Alison  could  bear.  "'Tis  mair  for  mysel'  an' 
ithers  than  for  ye  that  I'm  daein'  it.  .  .  .  I'm 
sair  wearit  wi'  seein'  ye  gang  aboot  a'  Sab- 
baith  wi'  a  breest-pin  like  that  in  the  sang 
whaur  'the  monkey  mairrit  the  baboon's 
suster. 

"Ef  you'se  meanin'  anything  'bout  cullud 
folks  by  yo'  'monkeys  an'  babboons,'"  storm- 
ed Mammy,  almost  rending  the  mantle  asun- 
der in  her  fiery  efforts  to  get  it  off,  "you  kin 
jes  take  back  yo'  ole  cloak  .  .  .  right  now  ,  .  . 
dis  minuit." 

H7 


T  R  I  X     AND    Q  V  E  R-T  H  E-M  O  O  N 

But  again  Alison  came  to  the  fore  with 
soothing  words. 

"Dinna  ye  be  sae  Hke  tow  an'  flint,  Henny 
Miner,"  said  she.  "Dinna  ye  ken  that  the 
bride  i'  yon  sang  wore  a  'green  glass  breest- 
pin' .?  an'  dinna  ye  wear  the  like  ilka  Sabbaith 
o'  your  life  .^  .  .  .  I  canna  thole  a  glass  gim- 
crack  ony  mair  than  I  can  kissin'.  .  .  .  Thaur, 
tak'  the  brooch  like  a  Chreestian  frae  a 
Chreestian,  an'  dinna  gae  aff  at  ilka  word 
like  a  fire-toy  on  a  holiday." 

"Well,  you  sut'n'y  kin  saften  things  down 
when  you  got  a  min'  tub,"  said  Mammy, 
again  appeased.  "I'll  take  it,  an'  thank  you 
a  heap,  an'  /'//  'member  you  nex'  Chris'mus. 
Hit  sut'n'y  is  purty,  rade  gole.  .  .  .  Hit  sho'  is 
a  lovely  keepsake.  I  gwine  think  uv  you. 
Mis'  Stark,  ev'y  time  I  pins  it  on,"  she  con- 
cluded, with  the  sentimentality  that  ahvays 
gave  Alison  a  "cauld  grue." 

"I  wadna  be  promisin'  that,"  said  she, 
dryly.  "I'd  like  fine  tae  think  o'  ye  as  bein' 
a'ways  contentit  when  ye  wear  it.  An'  noo 
I  must  be  gettin'  back  tae  the  letter-writin'. 
I've  twa-three  letters  tae  back  yet,  an'  ane 
tae  write,  an'  the  boat  gaes  o'  Wednesdays  an' 
148 


T  R  I  X    AND    O  V  E  R-T  H  E-M  O  O  N 

this  is  Monday.  Sae  awa'  wi'  ye  for  the 
preesent." 

That  was  certainly  a  "giein'  day"  with 
AHson.  She  bestowed  a  Httle  gold  dollar 
on  Tim,  later  in  the  afternoon,  for  a  "luck- 
penny,"  and  what  even  more  astonished,  if  it 
did  not  delight  him  as  much,  a  hard,  bumping 
kiss  on  his  forehead. 

"Dinna  ye  be  spendin'  that  for  sweeties 
noo,"  said  she,  sternly,  by  way  of  tempering 
the  wind  of  good  fortune  to  the  gilded  lamb ; 
"keep  it  till  ye're  a  man  grawed  tae  remember 
your  feyther's  auld  nurse  by." 

"I  cert'n'y  will.  Nurse  Ailie,"  said  he. 
"You  cert'n'y  are  sweet  an'  nice  to-day." 
And  he  hooked  a  little  arm  in  her  sharp 
elbow  and  snuggled  up  against  her  flat 
chest.  Alison  did  not  say:  "Hoots!  Awa' 
wi'  you  an'  your  whillywhas  .  .  ."  or  "  What 
d'ye  want  the  noo,  my  cock-a-bendy  .?"  as 
she  nearly  always  did,  but  just  put  her 
other  arm  about  him,  and  held  him  so  a 
minute. 

Then  she  lifted  him  suddenly,  and  walking 
across  the  room,  opened  a  little  cupboard  in 
the  wall  and  told  him  to  "keek  in."  There 
149 


T  R  I  X    AND    Q  V  E  R-T  H  E-M  O  O  N 

were  various  little  packets,  sealed  and  ad- 
dressed, lying  in  tidy  rows  along  the  shelf. 

"Luik  well,  my  laddie,"  said  she;  "an'  when 
I'm  gaen  tae  Scotland,  tell  your  feyther  tae 
come  here  an'  get  them  a'.  They're  a'  backit 
an'  ready  tae  send,  an'  he'll  knaw  what  tae  dae 
wi'  'em.     Gie  me  your  waird  ye'Il  no  forget." 

"No  .  .  .  /  won't  ...  I  promise  you,  Ailie," 
said  he,  in  his  sweet,  wheedling  voice;  then 
as  she  set  him  down  :  "My,  Ailie!  You 
cert'n'y  are  strong  for  your  age,  ain't  you  ? 
Mos'  ez  strong  ez  a  man,  I  reckon." 

"An'  why  for  suld  I  nae  be  .?"  asked  Alison. 
"  My  feyther's  a  hunner  an'  twa,  come  Hallow 
Day,  an'  gangs  aboot  his  steadin'  like  a  laddie. 
Ou  ay!  Strang  I  am  sin'  a  lass.  .  .  .  Noo,  rin 
aff,  but  dinna  be  tellin'  onybody  aboot  thae 
bit  packets  i'  the  coopboard  till  I'm  awa'.  .  .  . 
'Tis  juist  a  secret  atween  us  twa,  ye  ken." 

"No  ...  no  ...  /  promise!"  repeated  Tim; 
and  after  another  hug  and  kiss,  which  she  did 

not  rebuff,  he  ran  off  happily,  with  his  gold 

((11  )) 

luck-penny. 


At   two   o'clock   that    nij>:ht   Alison    leaned 
from  her  bed  and  lighted  one  of  the  "candlc- 
150 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

dowps"  for  which  Mammy  so  scorned  her, 
and  setting  it  in  the  flat,  brass  candlestick, 
got  out  of  bed.  As  the  flame  burned  up 
it  was  to  be  seen  that  she  was  fully  dressed, 
and  that  she  had  been  lying  on  the  outside  of 
her  bed.  She  had  on  a  short,  stout  skirt  of 
gray  homespun  and  a  black  print  waist,  and 
over  a  chair  near  by  hung  a  jacket  of  the  same 
serviceable  stufi:^  as  her  skirt. 

Although  the  shades  to  her  windows  were 
lowered  and  the  blinds  shut,  she  took  the 
candle  and  set  it  within  a  closet,  half  closing 
the  door.  Then  she  slipped  her  feet  into  a 
pair  of  list  slippers,  and  began  moving  deftly 
but  deliberately  about  the  room.  She  had 
indeed  "readid  up"  that  day.  Not  an  article 
was  out  of  place.  The  drawers  in  her  chest 
were  as  tidy  as  those  of  a  bride  just  come 
home  to  her  new  roof-tree,  and  everything 
that  she  looked  for  seemed  to  be  laid  to  her 
hand. 

First  she  took  out  a  large  plaid  and  spread 
it  on  the  bed,  then  on  this  she  laid  some 
pieces  of  underwear,  her  brush  and  comb, 
all  the  various  simple  things  that  she  might 
need  for  a  short  journey.  When  it  was 
151 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

filled  to  her  satisfaction  she  drew  the  ends 
together  and  knotted  them,  so  as  to  make 
an  easy  handle.  She  next  unlocked  the  little 
cupboard  in  the  wall,  and  taking  out  the 
packets  that  she  had  shown  Tim  that  after- 
noon, knelt  down  and  examined  them  care- 
fully by  the  light  of  the  candle,  behind  the 
closet  door,  to  be  sure  that  each  was  correctly 
"backed."  There  was  one  for  every  negro 
on  the  place,  including  the  pickaninny  who 
had  had  her  "palate  lock"  tied  up  last  week, 
and  after  assuring  herself  that  they  were  right, 
she  laid  them  back  on  the  shelf.  There  was 
another  shelf  above  this  one,  and  running  her 
hand  far  back  along  it,  Alison  next  drew  out 
a  long  knife,  set  in  a  stout  bone  handle,  and 
whetted  to  a  sharp  point  from  either  side. 
With  this  she  went  again  to  the  closet,  and, 
crouching  down,  drew  a  long  gray  hair  from 
her  own  head,  and  tried  first  one  side  of  the 
blade  and  then  the  other  against  it.  The 
thing  was  like  a  razor.  The  severed  hairs 
floated,  twisting  and  glistening,  to  the  floor  in 
the  draughty  candle-light.  Over  this  knife 
she  slipped  a  sheath  of  roughly  stitched  leather, 
and  then  put  both  into  the  bosom  of  her  gown. 
152 


TRIX    AND    QVER-THE-MOON 

She  then  lifted  a  stone  from  the  hearth, 
that  was  hidden  by  a  bit  of  carpet,  and  took 
out  the  savings  of  thirty  years — all  in  neat 
packages  of  bank-notes. 

"It  maun  ha'  been  Gude  Himsel'  wha 
keepit  me  a'  these  years  frae  giein'  them  to 
Maister  Sidney  tae  pit  in  a  bank  ...  as  he 
waur  aye  wantin'  tae  dae,"  she  thought  now, 
as  she  counted  them  over.  One  half  she  put 
into  a  little  bag  of  chamois-skin,  which  she 
fastened  about  her  waist,  under  her  skirt; 
the  other  half  she  placed  in  a  wooden  box, 
locked  it,  and  slipped  the  key  under  her  pillow. 
This  box  she  wrapped  in  a  paper,  upon  which 
was  already  written,  "For  the  Master  of  Old- 
wood."  This  completed,  she  stood  for  a 
moment  and  looked  around  her  with  knitted 
brows,  trying  to  recall  something  that  she 
might  have  forgotten.  Then  suddenly  the 
old  face  began  to  work  strangely,  she  put  up 
one  hand  over  her  mouth,  and  going  to  the 
bedside,  felt  for  the  square  that  her  Bible 
made  through  the  plaid  in  which  she  had 
wrapped  it,  and  then  kneeling  down  with  her 
forehead  against  the  strengthening  hardness, 
she  remained  so  for  some  moments. 
153 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

When  she  rose  again  her  face  was  quite 
steady  and  her  mouth  set.  Nothing  to  do 
now  but  put  on  her  bonnet  and  coat,  take 
the  wooden  box  under  her  arm,  the  bundle 
and  her  heavy  boots  in  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  extinguish  the  candle.  She  paused  for 
an  instant  to  slip  a  box  of  matches  in  her 
pocket,  and  then  skirting  the  wall  with  her 
free  hand,  made  the  way  step  by  step  to  the 
door.  She  had  oiled  the  locks  of  both  that 
and  the  back  door  of  the  house  that  afternoon, 
so  that  she  slipped  out  as  noiselessly  as  a  gray 
ghost  from  the  house  that  had  been  her  home 
for  three-and-thirty  years. 

"Gude's  blessin'  upo'  that  roof-tree  an' 
a'  that's  under  it  an'  will  be  under  it,"  she 
whispered,  turning  for  one  last  look  as  she 
descended  the  old  stone  steps  of  the  porch. 
"And  for  him  that's  awa,  he  will  ken  that 
'tis  but  to  bless  him  I  am  leevin'." 

Then  she  went  swiftly  and  steadily  toward 
the  stables.  It  was  a  clear  night,  set  with  low, 
gold  stars,  but  a  young  moon  would  be  up  in 
an  hour,  and  Alison  quickened  her  steps. 

She  did  not  go  to  the  main  stables,  but 
paused  at  the  gate  of  Over-the-Moon's  en- 
154 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

closure,  and  set  her  bundle  and  the  box  softly 
on  the  grass.  Then  stooping,  she  deftly  oiled 
the  padlock  with  the  feather  and  phial  that 
she  had  brought  with  her  for  the  purpose, 
and  taking  out  a  key  from  her  pocket,  she 
slipped  it  in  as  noiselessly  as  she  had  done 
everything  else,  and  entered  the  enclosure. 
Once  inside,  she  stood  stock-still  for  a  minute 
and  covered  her  face  with  both  hands. 

**Gude  be  wi'  me  .  .  .  Gude  be  wi'  me  .  .  ." 
she  whispered;  then  took  a  deep  breath,  and 
went  on. 

Within  three  yards  of  the  loose-box  door 
she  paused  and  drew  out  some  sugar  from 
her  pocket,  then  gave  the  low  whistle  that 
the  horse  knew  so  well.  At  first  there  was 
no  answer.  She  whistled  again,  low  and  soft. 
This  time  a  sleepy  nicker  answered  her,  and 
shortly  the  beautiful  stag-head  thrust  itself 
from  the  window  and  sent  a  "quhirr"  of 
inquiry  through  its  nostrils. 

"Ca'  canny,  man,  ca'  canny,"  whispered 
Alison.  She  reached  him  a  lump  of  sugar, 
and  while  he  was  eating  it,  opened  the  box 
door  by  the  same  process  that  she  had  opened 
the  gate.  Again  she  stood  quite  still  before 
155 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 


entering,  and  this  time  her  hand  went  up  to 
her  heart  and  clutched  there. 

"Thaur  is  nae  ither  way  .  .  ."  she  whispered. 
"Gude  guide  us  a'  .  .  ."  The  next  moment 
she  was  standing  almost  to  her  knees  in  the 
fresh,  loose  straw,  with  that  warm,  pungent 
smell,  so  pleasant  to  the  lovers  of  horses, 
all  about  her.  .  .  .  She  set  the  wooden  box 
which  she  had  brought  with  her  in  the 
manger,  and  turned  around. 

"Whaur  are  ye,  mannie  ?  .  .  .  Come  hither 
.  .  ."  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  and  her  voice 
shook.  "What  are  ye  doin'  thaur  i'  th'  pit- 
mirk  .?  Dinna  ye  ken  your  frien's  when  ..." 
but  she  broke  off  abruptly.  .  .  .  "O  Gude 
A'michty  .  .  ."  she  said,  on  a  sort  of  sob. 
The  roan  was  now  snuffing  at  her  through  the 
gloom,  and  suddenly,  with  another  little  nicker 
of  welcome,  came  quite  up  to  her,  and  began 
rubbing  his  head  against  her,  in  that  violently 
affectionate  way  that  some  horses  have,  so 
that  she  was  nearly  thrown  off  her  balance. 

"Saftly  .  .  .  saftly,  my  bonny  lamb,"  whis- 
pered she.  .  .  .  "Here's  your  succar,  my  puir, 
puir  hinny.  Eat  your  fill  .  .  ."  and  she  broke 
off  again,  just  standing  there  silent,  while  he 
156 


TRIX    AND    0VER-THP:-M00N 

nosed  and  nudged  her,  and  crunched  the 
sugar,  and  licked  her  hand  like  a  dog  with  his 
warm,  silk-soft  tongue. 

Then,  suddenly,  an  astonishment  to  her- 
self and  the  contradiction  of  her  whole  life, 
Alison  flung  her  arms  about  the  splendid 
neck,  and  wept  as  she  had  not  wept  since  her 
first  child  was  born  dead  to  her.  She  kissed 
him  .  .  .  she  spoke  to  him  as  a  mother  to  her 
bairn  .  .  .  and  now  he  licked  her  cheek  and  her 
ear  as  well  as  her  hands,  as  though  liking  the 
salt  taste  of  her  tears,  and  with  a  sort  of  dumb 
inkling  that  grief  was  near  him. 

**  I  maun  get  it  ower  ...  I  maun  get  it  ower 
.  .  ."  Alison  said,  thickly,  and  quaked  at  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice.  "Gude  be  kind  to 
me  ...  I  think  I'm  a  bit  awa'  i'  my  heid.  .  .  . 
I  see  a'  red  i'  the  pit-mirk  here.  .  .  ." 

She  drew  back  a  little,  and  took  the  knife 
from  her  breast,  drew  off  the  sheath,  and  let  it 
fall  in  the  straw  at  her  feet. 

Then  once  more  she  slipped  her  arm  about 
the  horse's  neck.  He  stood  as  before,  nosing 
her  for  sugar,  and  rubbing  his  head  up  and 
down  against  her.  But  now  her  fingers  were 
running  over  the  great  thropple,  down  toward 
157 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOQN 

the  chest — this  way  and  that.  He  thought 
this  a  ticklish  sort  of  game,  and  nipped  up 
her  sleeve  playfully. 

Where  was  it ,?  .  .  .  Was  this  the  place .?  .  .  . 
Where  did  that  great  jugular  vein  divide  ?  .  .  . 
Where  had  Stonehenge  said  that  you  must 
strike  to  bleed  a  horse  ?  .  .  .  Had  she  studied 
it  all  those  Sabbaths  spent  away  from  church, 
harder  than  she  had  ever  studied  her  Bible, 
to  forget  it  now  ? 

"I'm  awa'  i'  my  heid  .  .  .  I'm  awa'  i'  my 
heid  .  .  ."  she  kept  repeating  to  herself.  And 
then  suddenly  the  horse  tossed  up  his  head 
.  .  .  this  was  the  place.  .  .  .  Yes  .  .  .  surely .  .  . 
just  here  .  .  . 

"Forgi'e  me,  oh,  forgi'e  me!"  she  said,  and 
struck  once,  deep  and  hard,  into  the  great 
throat. 

The  roan  gave  a  loud,  terrified,  coughing 
snort  and  flung  himself  wildly  back  against 
the  opposite  wall  .  .  .  she  heard  him  snort 
again  .  .  .  and  this  time  there  seemed  to  be  in 
it  a  horrid  sound  of  wet  choking.  .  ,  .  Then  she 
was  out  in  the  cool  night  again  .  .  .  running, 
stumbling,  running  on  once  more. 

And  she  heard  herself  gasping  words  as  she 
158 


TRIX      SHED      THE      BITTEREST      TEARS      OF      HER      LIFE 


I 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

ran  .  .  .  and  tried  to  stop  them  .  .  .  and  said 
them  over  and  over,  hearing  them  as  it  were 
a  voice  outside  her  speaking:  ''The  hand  that 
he  trustit  ha'  smitten  him.  .  .  .  The  hand  that 
he  trustit  ha'  smitten  him  .  .  ." 

Trix  shed  the  bitterest  tears  of  her  short, 
self-willed  life  next  morning,  sitting  on  the 
ground,  regardless  of  the  dreadful  mess  of 
blood,  with  the  stark  head  of  her  favorite  on 
her  lap. 

And  she  went  through  a  very  black  and 
human  phase  of  blind  rage  against  Alison. 
Later  on  in  the  day,  however,  when  she  had 
opened  the  wooden  box  and  read  the  letter 
to  Sidney  that  it  contained,  the  sense  of  justice 
that  was  the  backbone  of  her  sturdy  nature 
made  her  see  things  differently,  even  touched 
her  in  an  odd  way,  through  the  fierce  anger 
that  still  possessed  her.  Half  of  her  savings 
the  old  woman  had  left  to  pay  for  the  horse, 
whose  value  she  did  not  exactly  know,  and  in 
her  simple  message  to  Sidney  she  told  him 
that  though  she  shrank  from  "doing  murder 
on  a  poor  beast,"  it  was  the  only  way  to  save 
two  lives  and  his  happiness  forbye. 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

Still  later  that  afternoon,  when  poor  AUson 
was  brought  back  in  the  cart  of  a  farmer, 
who  had  heard  her  unconscious  moans,  and 
had  gone  to  her  rescue  with  the  help  of  two  of 
the  farm-hands,  all  Trix's  bitterness  against 
her  fled  for  good. 

Alison's  plans  had  been  as  simple  as  her 
letter  and  her  actions.  In  the  former  she 
had  told  Sidney  that  she  intended  to  go  to 
Dumfries,  and  bide  a  wee  there  with  her 
eldest  son  Jamie  until  she  could  get  a  bit  roof 
for  herself.  If  the  money  she  had  left  was  not 
enough  to  pay  for  the  loss  of  the  horse,  he 
was  kindly  to  let  her  know. 

When  she  left  the  stables  she  had  intended 
going  by  a  short  cut  through  fields  and  woods 
that  she  knew  well  to  a  station  some  seven 
miles  from  Oldwood,  and  there  take  the  train 
for  Washington,  and  so  on  to  New  York, 
whence  she  would  sail  for  Scotland  on 
Wednesday's  steamer.  Her  second-class  tick- 
et was  in  the  little  chamois-skin  bag  with  her 
money.  She  had  left  nothing  to  chance,  and 
chance  had  mistrysted  with  her  in  the  end — 
for  it  was  while  on  a  little  path  that  led  by  one 
end  of  an  old  quarry,  in  the  west  field,  that 
1 60 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

she  had  caught  her  foot  in  a  root  and  fallen 
down  the  jagged  side,  happily  not  very  steep 
here,  to  lie  senseless  at  the  bottom  until  found 
by  the  passing  farmer. 

She  was  still  unconscious  when  they  got  her 
to  bed,  and  remained  so  until  the  doctor  came. 
He  gave  them  little  hope.  "She  can  hardly 
get  over  it,  Mrs.  Bruce,"  said  he.  "There  is 
some  internal  injury,  and  there's  been  a  double 
shock  to  the  whole  system,  both  mental  and 
physical.  A  woman  of  seventy  cannot  lie  on 
the  ground  for  ten  hours  or  so  after  such  a 
fall  and  have  much  chance  for  recovery. 
She'll  probably  linger  a  few  days  ,  .  .  two  or 
three  .  .  .  and  she  may  regain  consciousness 
.  .  .  there's  no  serious  injury  to  the  head.  .  .  . 
But  I'm  afraid  we  can  only  make  her  as  com- 
fortable as  possible  ,  .  ." 

Then  Trix,  after  telegraphing  for  Sidney, 
set  about  with  all  her  vigorous  will  to  help 
make  Alison  "as  comfortable  as  possible," 
while  Mammy  Henny  follovv^ed  her  about,  sob- 
bing as  though  her  dearest  friend  lay  there, 
instead  of  a  thrawn  old  woman  who  had 
made  her  life  a  burden  at  times  for  the  past 
ten  years. 

i6i 


TRIX     AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

The  next  day  about  noon  Alison  opened  her 
eves  and  looked  steadily  about  her.  Trix  was 
not  in  the  room  at  the  time,  but  Mammy 
Henny  tumbled  to  the  bedside  with  cries  of, 
"Thank  de  Lawd!  .  .  .  De  Lawd's  name  be 
praised!"  and  held  a  spoonful  of  milk  and 
brandy  to  the  dry  lips.  Alison  swallowed  it 
with  unaccustomed  obedience,  and  then  said, 
faintly: 

"Dinna  heed  if  I  say  unco'  things.  .  .  .  I'm 
a  wee  awa'  i'  th'  heid  .  .  ." 

"Say  all  you  wants,  po'  honey,"  urged 
Mammy.  "I  don't  keer  what  you  say. 
Cyarn'  you  mek  out  tub  'buse  me  a  leetle  V 
But  Alison  had  closed  her  eyes,  and  seemed 
again  unconscious. 

Presently  she  whispered: 

"How  cam'  I  i'  this  cham'er  again.?" 

Mammy  Henny  told  her,  with  sighs  and 
moans  of  sympathy,  interwoven  with  bright 
prophecies  for  the  future. 

Alison  only  remarked  at  the  end: 

"Weel,  I  ken,  Henny  Miner,  that  I'm  on 

my  deith-bed.     I'll  be  awa'  afore  tae-morrow 

morn.     Dinna  skirl  sae,  woman;  ye'd  deave 

the  miller,  an'  I  wad  dee  a  decent  deith.  .  .  ." 

162 


TRIX    AND    OVER-THE-MOON 

Mammy  stifled  her  groans  in  the  counter- 
pane after  that,  but  her  great  shoulders  heaved 
as  she  kneh  beside  the  bed. 

Presently  Alison  just  touched  the  bent  ker- 
chief with  a  weak  hand,  and  said: 

"Ye  micht  na  think  it  .  .  .  but  I  hae  likit 
ye  weel,  Henny  Miner." 

"An'  I  sut'n'y  is  be'n  luve  you,  do'  I  didn' 
know  it,"  sobbed  Mammy.  "You'se  a  good 
'ooman.  .  .  .  You'se  a  good  'ooman.  .  .  .  You 
done  save  my  baby's  life  when  I  couldn't  do 
nothin'.  ...  I  dun'no'  how  I  gwine  mek  out 
widout  you." 

And  she  covered  her  head  with  her  apron, 
and  went  on  sobbing  and  rocking  herself  to 
and  fro. 

Alison  wandered  a  little  after  that,  and 
Mammy  stole  out  to  fetch  the  mistress.  When 
they  came  back  the  old  woman  was  plucking 
at  the  fringe  of  the  counterpane  and  talking 
in  a  low,  fluttering  voice,  broken  by  gasps. 
Trix  bent  over  her  and  spoke  to  her  gently, 
but  Alison  did  not  recognize  her.  Sometimes 
Trix  could  catch  a  sentence  or  two,  and  then 
all  trailed  away  into  a  confused  muttering. 
Once  she  said: 

163 


TRIX     AND    QVER-T  HE-MOON 

"  I  like  fine  tae  think  o'  thae  horses  that 
won  frae  heaven  for  the  prophet."  And 
again : 

''Thaur  will  be  fower  horses  mention't  i' 
th'  Buik  o'  Reveelation.  .  .  .  Wha  kens  gin 
'the  sawl  o'  the  beast  gaeth  downward'  ?  .  .  . 
It  micht  be  a  wrang  translation  .  .  .  Wha 
kens  ?  .  .  .  " 

Trix  gave  her  a  hypodermic  of  the  medicine 
left  by  the  doctor,  and  a  few  minutes  after, 
as  she  was  bending  over  her,  the  gray  eyes 
fixed  on  hers  with  a  look  of  recognition. 

"Ablins,  when  I'm  awa'  ye'll  can  forgi'e 
me.^"  whispered  Alison. 

"I  forgive  you  now  ...  I  forgive  you  now 
.  .  ."  said  Trix,  earnestly.  "I  know  you  did 
it  because  you  thought  it  was  the  only  thing 
to  save  me.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  I  for- 
give you  now  .  .  .  now  .  .  ." 

"Gude  keep  ye.  .  .  .  Ye've  a  grand  gift  o' 
juistice  for  a  woman  body,"  said  Alison,  faint- 
ly. Then  she  added:  "An'  I'll  no  lee  tae  ye 
on  my  deith-bed  ...  I  hae  nae  lo'ed  ye  ower 
weel.  .  .  .  but  I'd  like  fine  tae  try  again  .  .  ." 

Sidney  came  late  that  afternoon,  and  rushed 
at  once  to  the  room  where  his  old  nurse  lay 
164 


TRIX    AND    QVER-THE-MOQN 

dying.  He  knelt  beside  the  bed  and  took 
her  hand  in  his. 

"Ailie!  .  .  .  Ailie!  .  .  ."  he  called  to  her,  and 
she  roused  from  the  stupor  into  which  she 
had  sunk  during  the  last  hour,  and  looked  at 
him. 

"  Maister  Seedney,"  she  whispered. 

The  light  broke  in  her  eyes,  the  old  hand 
dragged  in  his. 

"What  is  it,  Ailie.?  .  .  .  What  is  it,  dear 
old  Ailie.?"  he  asked,  bending  close  to  her. 

But  Alison  was  "awa'." 


i 


^ 


1 


Chanler 

'        \jX  J. 

Trix  anc 

I  Over- the-m Don 

'' 

ia!;78i05 


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